


Beyond Family

by Bookwormgal



Category: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Africa, Alcohol, Backstory, Bad Parenting, Blood Magic, Canon Backstory, F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Human Sacrifice, Invisibility, Kidnapping, London, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Lots of Research, Loyalty, Magical Artifacts, Nautilus - Freeform, Not All Love is Romantic, Post-Canon, Protective Siblings, Rescue Missions, Some Love Is Romantic, Stealing, Team as Family, Transformation, Vampires, Victorian, Worldbuilding, back from the dead, cursed jewels, hostage, split personality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-05-02 15:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 70,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5254031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwormgal/pseuds/Bookwormgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bonds between friends can be forged that are as strong as those of blood. Family isn't only those you're connected to by birth. They can be the ones you'd least expect to share those bonds, but who care about you all the same. Family, those you love and trust completely, are the ones worth protecting. They're the ones you'll fight for and who'll fight for you in return.</p><p>Family comes in all shapes and forms. And when someone need help, family will always answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Summons

**Author's Note:**

> I should not be doing this. I have way too many stories going currently. But I was going through the possible stories in this fandom and found that I ran out of interesting ones way too soon. I began wondering why there wasn't more and (unfortunately) an idea sparked. I have a slight idea of where I'm going with this (I'll have to do some research for some later details), but I hope that I can get this story and the others written in a reasonable amount of time.
> 
> I always figured that the League would end up as this odd, highly-dysfunctional family after the movie. Most of them are either wanted men, "freaky darlings," or even both. There are not a large number of people who would welcome them (though they might still ask them for help in an emergency). In the end, they have only each other to depend on.
> 
> I must also state I can't write accents very well. So I didn't even attempt it with Skinner's dialog. But I think I still captured his style of speech even without it.

The blond-haired American stood on the deck of the Nautilus, staring out across the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. He knew that his old childhood friend would have loved to be there with him, living the adventure of a life time. He wished Huck could have seen some of the things he'd already experienced on board Nemo's submarine. He also wished that Quatermain was still with them. He had lost too many important people that should be standing with him. His best friend who was more like a brother and a man who became like father in the short time he knew him… Tom knew he would miss them for a long time to come. He wondered, not for the first time, if there was something he could have done to prevent either of their deaths.

An unseen force smacked the young man across the back of his head, interrupting his less-than-cheerful thoughts. He turned towards the source of the impact, a look of vague annoyance across his face. A black coat that seemed to float in midair greeted him, just as he expected. Out of all the people of the Nautilus, there was only one who would have thought that hitting him in the head was an appropriate greeting.

"What was that for, Skinner?" he asked, rubbing the afflicted area slightly.

"You had your 'weight of the world' face on, Sawyer," the invisible man answered, his voice demonstrating that he was smirking even though the actual expression couldn't be seen. "The one where you think that everything bad in the world is your fault and you end up moping around for a while. _That_ face. I don't need the only person on this entire boat that has a sense of humor to lose it. Until we have someone who can change the past join our lovely gang of freaky darlings, you need to learn to let the past go. Otherwise, I won't have anyone to talk to and have to go risk my life bothering Mina instead."

Tom grinned slightly. It seemed that Skinner had made it his life goal to prevent him from dwelling on Quatermain's death or even the severe burns that the invisible man received rescuing the blond young man during the attack in Mongolia. Actually, he absolutely refused to let Tom apologize for him getting hurt. Once he got over the worse of the injuries (and was no longer knocked out by Jekyll so he could rest and recover without being in intense pain), Skinner told the young man that if he decided to play hero spontaneously and just happened to get "fried to a crisp" doing so, it was his own fault and not Tom's. But he did ask him to hit him over the head if the invisible man tried to get set on fire again since he didn't want to repeat the experience.

"Sorry, didn't mean to start dwelling on that again," he apologized to his fellow League member. "I just started thinking about how my old partner, Agent Finn, would have loved to have been here and…" He trailed off and shrugged. "We've all lost someone or something. We all have something we wish we could change."

"I wish we could get some more women on this floating sideshow," remarked Skinner. "Mina is nice looking, but she's a little too scary for my taste. I prefer a lady who won't rip my throat out when she's in a testy mood. Of course, a reflection might be a nice thing to wish for too. Turns out most girls like to see who is flirting with them."

Tom chose not to mention the fact he, personally, wouldn't mind if Mina saw him as more than a team mate. The last girl he really liked was back home in America and had been the classic girl next door. But Becky was a long way away and Mina was on board the Nautilus. The vampire woman had obviously noticed his feelings early one, but essentially told him that she wasn't interested. Still, he could hope.

Focusing on another part of Skinner's statement, the blond young man reminded, "You better be careful calling the Nautilus a 'boat.' You know how sensitive Nemo is about respecting his lady."

"Names ain't that important, Sawyer. They certainly aren't for me," replied the thief, straightening his black leather coat. "You can change a name as easily as a cornered traitor can lie. Look at that Moriarty fellow. Look at me."

Tom gave him a curious look, "So, your real name isn't 'Rodney Skinner'? What is it?"

"Don't worry about it," he answered, sounding oddly serious. "I haven't used my old name in years. I prefer my current one anyway. I've been going by it for longer than the old one. My point is that what you call someone isn't that important." Adopting his usual cheerful tone again, he added, "But I still know better than to insult the Nautilus where Nemo could hear. I'd rather not have to swim back to shore after he tosses me off his 'lady,' after all. Don't stay out here moping too long, Sawyer. You don't want to miss dinner."

With that, the invisible man vanished back into the interior of the submarine and left the American League member with something to think about.

* * *

Nemo stared at the vague message in his hand. The Morse code request for the League's assistance back in London filled him with suspicion. He wasn't a member of the British Empire. Rather the opposite. And their last encounter with a member of their government (or someone claiming to be part of it) left him less than willing to deal with such people again. He could simply not pass along the message to the others. There was no true leader since the death of Quatermain and it was _his_ vessel. There was no reason why they should become involved and no one could argue if they did not know.

He may not have any loyalty to the Empire, but he did have loyalty to his fellow League members. Mina, Skinner, and even Henry all called London home at one point or another. The doctor would at least feel that they should learn what the circumstances of the request for help might be and Mina would undoubtedly be curious. They deserve the right to express their opinions.

Nemo would not dictate the lives the League must live. He was not the British Empire, after all. He was better than that. His crew and his allies were not part of any country's control, but they were not isolated from the world. What affected the members of that wide-spread and influential empire could eventually reach even his Nautilus. It was better to share the message with the entire League and to decide whether or not to answer the request as a group.

The captain quietly thanked the crew member who brought the message to his attention. The League would be together at dinner. He would share it with them and they could decide about if they should return to London together then.

* * *

It was rather relieving and almost comforting to realize that here, on board Nemo's amazing creation, he could find people who knew exactly who (and what) he and Edward were and could still look at him with more than fear and disgust. Both of their names could be linked to the deaths of innocent people and not-so-innocent ones. His own arrogance created a monster and he was the one who would have to live with the sins that Edward Hyde committed now. But, since he joined the League, things had begun to improve. Besides the young Sawyer, the members of the League had their own reasons to feel isolated from the world and most were also guilty of their own crimes. They didn't automatically condemn him for his past as long as he did not condemn them.

An even greater blessing was the change in Edward himself. While he was not and never would be a saint, he had found an outlet for his destructive desire. According to him, the more dangerous opponents that the League seems to find were far greater challenges than the helpless prey he preferred in the past and he was willing to exercise his small amount of patience in exchange for the greater thrill. And, even more surprising, Henry was beginning to believe that his other half actually _liked_ the others. He obviously preferred some more than others, but Edward seemed less than inclined to murder any of the League members in their sleep.

"Though I wouldn't mind seeing _her_ asleep," chuckled Edward from the reflection on a porthole as Henry walked down one of the Nautilus' many halls. "And don't act as if you wouldn't either."

Rather than respond to his words, the doctor continued in silence. His alter ego always knew how to ruin his moment of optimism. It seemed only natural that Edward would bring up Mina. If there was anyone who left him feeling both extremely happy and painfully out of his depths, it was her. Ever since he saw her and that traitor, Dorian, together, Edward had been mocking him about his feelings concerning her. Both of them agreed that not only was she someone they wanted to be closer to, she was also far beyond anyone that Henry could ever have a chance with. Edward's solution to that would be for _him_ to handle things, but that would be a nightmare to imagine. On the other hand, a vampire might actually be too much for even his alter ego to handle.

"Hello, Henry," a voice greeted, drawing him out of his thoughts and causing another mocking chuckle from Edward at his expense.

He turned towards the speaker, trying to get control of his nervousness. Henry knew that his usual timid and anxious personality had diminished for the most part around his friends. He could actually be confident when dealing with the League. But, when faced with her alone (or as alone as he could with Edward constantly with him), he was reduced back to the same fretful person that first met them after the formula wore off.

"Hello, Mrs. Harker," he answered, trying to smile at the woman who was joining him without having his eyes dart to the ground out of shyness. "I was just heading down for dinner. Would you like to join me?"

She returned his hesitant smile with a more confident one of her own. She was just as cursed as he was, in her own way. She wasn't quite human anymore and could be just as dangerous as Edward at his worse. But that wasn't everything that there was about her. She was confident, brave, beautiful, and unlike anyone he'd ever met. And she was far too good for him. That didn't mean, however, she wasn't one of his fellow League members and a good friend.

"I would love to," she nodded. "I was on my way there, anyway. And you know I've asked you to call me 'Mina.'"

"Yes, I know you have. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. We're all friends here."

Henry allowed himself a brief moment to take pleasure in her company, ignoring one of Edward's comments, and forcing his hand not to start fumbling with his watch nervously. He could never say anything about how he felt about her, but he could still enjoy what interactions with her he might have.

* * *

The dining room, like everything else on the Nautilus, was elegant and decorated in a fashion that Skinner referred to as "fancy and way too clean." The group would eat a delicious meal prepared by the cooks of Nemo's vessel and any current suggestions or concerns could be addressed by the entire League. Any new destination or request could be brought to their attention over the meal or they could simply discuss whatever crossed their mind during the day. These discussions would generally become more important after they made port at a new location, bringing any local oddness or looming global crisis to their awareness and to learn if they wanted to become involved. But it was mostly an opportunity to be with the odd assortment of individuals that, somehow, could be called friends.

Mina slipped into her chair with the silent and effortless grace that came with her curse. She had long since come to terms with what her encounter with Dracula had done to her. She was not exactly like he had been. She still retained some of her humanity and thus had some benefits that the count had lacked while not quite as powerful as he'd proven to be. Unlike him, the sunlight would not kill her, she was not barred from a home without an invitation, and she could still find nourishment from other sources (though she preferred her meat in a far rarer state than once). But, that didn't change the fact that, especially in the early days, she felt nearly compelled to feed when the scent of blood was in the air and it had been too long since she last tasted it. Years of practice had strengthened her resolve to the point where it wasn't as painfully hard to not harm someone when she smelled the tempting aroma. She could resist and had done so at different points to the point where she could assist in caring for the injured after the explosion on the Nautilus, but it would always be a struggle.

After she was seated, Henry sat in his own chair. He was as polite and proper as Edward Hyde was violent and harsh. He was also a talented doctor who truly wanted to help others. This was partially from guilt for his alter ego's actions, but mostly because that was who he was. And she wasn't blind. She could see the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching, just as she could see how Sawyer looked at her quite often. Both of them desired her affections, but she had no intention of returning their feelings currently. She had already lost her husband many years ago and had her heart broken more recently by that… _traitor_ , Dorian. She didn't need another potential problem so soon. Unless something happened, she would be alive for longer than almost anyone she might meet.

But those kinds of thoughts were best to be left for another day. She turned her attention to the two individuals entering the room. One was her other admirer, Tom Sawyer, who gave her that naïve and hopeful smile as he walked over to the table. The other was Skinner, his face hidden by the white greasepaint and dark glasses so that the view of food being chewed in midair didn't distract everyone, followed in his usual black coat. Out of all the people on board, Sawyer was able to get along with the invisible thief the best. He seemed to have the most tolerance for Skinner's eccentric behavior, rude remarks, and complete lack of respect for any kind of authority or rules. Mina suspected their developing friendship that began after the events in Mongolia had to do with Sawyer's youth and Skinner's… childishness. Whatever the reason, the blond young man (barely more than a boy and yet growing more worldly by the day) enjoyed his presence. All of the League knew that they could trust Skinner (they wouldn't repeat the same mistake twice), but that didn't stop them from becoming irritated with the invisible thief when small object vanished from where they were left or they had to deal with his newest idea of annoyance.

"Hello, my freaky little darlings," greeted Skinner, sliding into his seat. "Did you two have a lovely day playing mad scientists or did you decide to explore the library instead?"

Mina gave him a slightly patronizing smile, meeting his teasing with a mild insult of her own. "Just because you've never chosen to read a book and to remain ignorant does not mean we choose to."

"I know plenty of useful things. My knowledge is just more practical than what you get out of a book. Besides, as long as you know something, I don't have to," he answered. "I'm happy not wasting my time with literature written by a dead man who lived in some ancient time."

Before the conversation could continue, Captain Nemo entered the dining room. Dressed in blue, as usual, his rather distracted expression caught the group's attention. The man might be the most serious member of the League, but he was usually slightly less solemn when it was just their group. Only if he was about to deliver grim news to them would he adopt such an expression at such a time. The sheet of paper in his hand also supported her theory that he had brought tidings of some kind. And she wasn't the only one who had guessed what his preoccupation might be.

Sawyer frowned slightly at him, "Nemo, what is it?"

"We just received a message from London," he answered carefully. "Someone is requesting out help."

"The British Empire is in danger once again," groaned Skinner, mockingly. "After our last encounter with the 'government' and those promises from the wonderful 'M,' I'm surprised we're still listening to their signals."

"It wasn't from the government itself," Nemo explained. "Simply from one of the aristocratic families who had enough influence or power to have someone in higher power contact us for them."

"And do we know what they want from us?" asked Mina.

Nemo shook his head, "They want to meet us in person to discuss the problem. They feel it is of a sensitive nature apparently and they want only the best to handle it."

"I feel so flattered," the invisible thief smirked, his greasepaint-covered face demonstrating his amusement at being referred to as one of the "best." Deciding not to wait any longer, he started to eat. Not wearing his gloves, his fork seemed to be floating in midair as it carried food to his mouth. He turned towards Tom and asked, "Money can get those stuffy old families anything, can't they? Even us, apparently."

"No one has responded to the summons yet, nor do we have to," reminded Nemo. "Whether or not we answer their request should be decided as a group."

"I say we go hear them out," Tom remarked. "They might actually have a serious problem that requires us. And it can't hurt to at least listen."

Mina smiled slightly at his curiosity and spirit. He sensed adventure and a mystery. That was part of the reason he wanted to join the League in the first place and probably the American Secret Service before that. Regardless of how much experience he gained or how else he may grow, she had no doubt he would always retain that youthful optimism and excitement.

Henry, looking a little more cautious, reminded, "It could be a trap of some kind. The Empire might be grateful to us for what we did to stop 'M,' but there undoubtedly are those still in power who do not look as kindly upon us. Remember, several of us are wanted for a variety of crimes and could be arrested." He sighed, "But if there is a true need for our help, can we truly do anything less than to try?"

"Do we at least get to know the name of who is asking for our assistance?" she asked.

Nemo examined the sheet of paper in his hand, "His name is Lord Talbot."

A loud clatter grabbed the group's attention away from the captain. Skinner's fork had dropped out of his hand to the plate. The thief's greasepaint-coated features were turned towards Nemo with an expression of shock and… maybe a little anger. Ignoring the fact he had swiftly become the center of attention, Skinner rose from his chair and walked over toward the captain.

"Who did you say it was?" he asked, his voice oddly tense.

"Lord James Talbot. Apparently his family manages…"

"No," the thief answered sharply. "I'm not going."

Sawyer slowly rose out of his own chair, "Skinner…"

"Tom, I'm dead serious. I'm still a part of the League and I have the right to state my opinion, ain't I? I say leave him to deal with his own problem," he interrupted.

"Do you know this person?" asked Nemo curiously.

"One of the victims of your past crimes, no doubt," suggested Mina. Honestly, she was growing slightly curious herself. Even after the entire crew thought he was a traitor, he was able to laugh it off and didn't keep a grudge. What did that man do to annoy their easy-going thief so much? "Perhaps an instant where you did not succeed?"

"You could say that," Skinner answered slowly. "Well, if all of you decide that you want to waste your time listening to him, that's up to you. I don't want anything to do with him." He straightened his coat. "If we go, don't expect me to talk to him or even look at him. Actually, the pompous, narrow-minded, selfish old man probably would only speak to Jekyll. No one else is good enough for him to deal with." He gestured at his friends, "Everyone else is either not British, not a man, or is simply too strange looking." He finished with a gesture towards his pale features. "Hope you're up to the task of dealing with him, doc. He isn't an understanding or forgiving man."

Without waiting for a response or even a decision to be made concerning the message, he walked out of the room. Even wearing greasepaint and a coat, Skinner still had a talent for disappearing.

* * *

He knew that his reaction would draw questions, but he didn't care at that moment. That name… Never would he have expected to hear it on board the Nautilus, let alone as the individual who would be seeking the help of the League. Guess he made friends high enough in the government to learn of their existence. He wanted nothing to do with that man and now it seemed he was going to have to deal with him again. Lord Talbot… He didn't want or need to see him, let alone speak to him. Not if he wanted to avoid someone getting hurt during the meeting.

Skinner knew most of the best hiding places on the Nautilus and was currently advantage of that knowledge. Nemo might have a greater understanding of his "lady's" secrets, but the invisible man had experience avoiding the large crew and the League itself during the time period where they thought he was a traitor. He'd explored the submarine from end to end, slipping into several rooms that none of the rest of the League had gone near and squeezing behind a variety of pipes and tanks. If he wanted to be left alone, no one would be able to find him, even without being invisible. And he honestly didn't want to talk to them.

They would ask questions. They would want to know about his past involvement with Lord Talbot and the entire Talbot… family. His history with that man… Well, it wasn't something this particular gentleman thief wanted to be reminded of. Maybe he could help them to forget the matter by sneaking a few key items from Mina's room of a private and delicate nature. This would result in pure rage from the woman, mild amusement from Tom, and embarrassment from Henry. It would be good for a laugh and might distract them away unwanted topics. That would be worth whatever wrath he might provoke from her.

With that cheery thought, he managed to banish the memory of that man's face once again to the past where it belonged. In doing so, however, another face appeared that was connected to Lord Talbot. This one was connected to happier memories. It even managed to cause a smile on his transparent features, his white greasepaint already removed and his coat left back in his room. Skinner might hate Lord Talbot, but she was a different story. And while she was connected to that black-hearted scoundrel, she was also connected to something far more pleasant and something he hadn't thought about in years.

His long, thin, fingers and steady hands were part of the reason he made such a great thief. Pick-pocketing and lock-picking were both skills that benefitted from natural talent. Silence and stealth were also key traits to his trade. But his hands also had another gift that he hadn't practice for some time. One that his exploration of the Nautilus had demonstrated he could fulfill quite easily if he chose.

It might be nice to see if he still could… As long as no one noticed since this particular talent would raise even more questions. Still, it would be fun. He just had to try before he came to his senses.

* * *

While Skinner's odd reaction had certainly raised their attention to the possible problems with answering the request, the curiosity of the League was also raised to the point they had no choice but to accept. Their invisible man would not be happy about it, but they weren't about to get any answers from him. No one had seen him… Well, no one knew where on board he was since he left earlier. Which was why Tom was currently scouring the vessel in an attempt to find him. Even though it seemed like an impossible task to locate someone you couldn't see and likely didn't want to be found, the blond-haired American knew that he had to try.

Logically, Skinner would be somewhere away from the main areas of the Nautilus where the League generally could be found. He would also try to be out of anyone's path so they didn't accidentally bump into him or trip over him, ruining his concealment. Unfortunately, that still left plenty of places to hide.

As he was beginning to believe that it was a complete lost cause (after all, they couldn't even find him when they thought he was a traitor), he began to hear a soft sound that seemed completely out of place in the empty hallway he was currently standing in. At first, the young man couldn't place it and simply followed it. As he grew closer to the source, he realized what he was hearing and found it to be even more out of place.

Another hallway connected to the one he was currently traveling through. As he went by the linked hallway, Henry came into view with an odd expression on his face. His gaze met with Tom.

"Is that," the doctor asked carefully, "a piano?"

"I think it is," he answered. "I guess Nemo really has everything on the Nautilus."

Henry nodded, "His extensive library demonstrates he is a cultured man. I suppose he has an appreciation of music along with literature. Though I pictured him as preferring something larger and grander than a simple piano. Perhaps a pipe-organ."

"But what I want to know is who is playing it?" wondered Tom.

The pair of them continued to follow the music down the hallway. The sound was soft and elegant, almost mournful in tone. Even though he never attending one of those formal balls that seemed to be a required activity of anyone with a great amount of money or power, but he could guess that this was the type of music that would be played at such events.

Finally, the room where the sound was emanating from was located. The door was open just a crack and his first guess was that it was some kind of storage room. The surrounding chambers were filled with what looked like spare furniture and other objects. Likely, they were kept here until something was destroyed and needed replacing or simply if the captain felt the need to prepare another room for occupation. Apparently one of these objects was a piano.

Out of a silent agreement, the two League members approached the door with as much stealth as possible. Through the crack, they could make out part of the piano. It was a white instrument with intricate carvings across the wood surface. Tom didn't know if it actually survived the chaos of the bomb explosion and the near destruction of the Nautilus or if it was repaired after the event or if it was only brought on board afterwards, but it sounded like it was in perfect condition. Even more peculiar was the fact that that there was no obvious evidence of someone actually playing it. Theoretically, it was conceivable that the Nemo would have a piano capable of playing on its own, but there was a far simpler explanation. That explanation, however, was harder to believe.

"Skinner?" Henry whispered incredulously.

Tom gave a brief shrug, watching the piano produce the hauntingly beautiful music with no visible player. As unexpected as it might seem, the thief seemed to be the source of the sound. And… he was good.

The song eventually came to an end, the final notes fading away into silence. Neither one of the listeners seemed to know if they should make their presence known to their friend and ally or if they should simply leave quietly. It would probably be easier on everyone if they didn't let him know they heard. Especially after Skinner's odd reaction earlier that day.

Before they could edge away from the door, the invisible thief gave a soft sigh, "Charlotte."

The sound of the bench being pushed back warned Tom and Henry that Skinner was coming, so the two men swiftly and silently back toward the other hallway before he could leave the room and see them. The day was proving to be full of odd developments, starting from the message from that Lord Talbot. They may have solved the small mystery concerning the source of the music, but more questions had sprouted in their place. Where in the world did their gentleman thief learn to play like that? And who was Charlotte?


	2. In London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been doing lots and lots of research for this thing. This includes various aspects of life in the late Victorian era, the background information available for the various League members (which can be found in a large variety of books that I did not write), and trying to fit together the nearly conflicting aspects of the different novels and the movie universe with each other, let alone trying to research and fit in real events and facts of the Victorian era. It wasn't easy… 
> 
> The ages especially were a headache to consider. According to "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea," Nemo would have been in his forties in 1868 (making him in his seventies during the time of the movie's events). Another bad age match is Tom Sawyer. The books about his life were written in the 1870s through the 1890s, but are set during the 1840s with him as a boy around 10-12 (meaning Tom would have to be also close to seventy in 1899). Mina is a vampire (so age is not really a problem) and Jekyll/Hyde are not too badly off in comparison to some of the characters' ages, but these complications are just an example of the trouble that weaving the different pieces of literature together can be. For obvious reasons, I decided to use the apparent ages of the characters in the movie rather than those provided by the books. 
> 
> I am, however, using facts from the novels for the history of the League members prior to the movie. Every member (except for one) has at least one story about them, providing plenty of material to draw from in addition to the movie. True, some events in the movie contradict the literary source (like Mina being semi-vampire after the events of "Dracula," Quatermain's son dying on one of his adventures instead of smallpox and him living in Kenya instead of South Africa, Hyde being far larger than Jekyll, and Dorian not being able to look at his portrait without dying), but I will give the film precedent over the books. Details not specified in the movie will be drawn from the Victorian era literature, if possible, or by logic. In addition, I will do my best to ignore the existence of the comic and not be using information from it in my story (the movie is so radically different from the comic, especially concerning characterization and capabilities, that I would prefer not to try and integrate it…). 
> 
> Skinner is not the original invisible man (that would be Griffin's title), so he has absolutely no established background story beyond what was in the movie. He never appeared in the book and, thus, is not bound by the events beyond the fact that the invisibility serum was invented in 1890s. Most of his life before the League is unknown. That provides quite a bit of leeway for a creative writer. As long as keep faithful to the few facts we do know about him and stay true to his character, I can do quite a bit with him.
> 
> Wow, this is getting longer than I expected. Okay, time to wrap this up. I did not invent most of these characters and can't claim ownership. A large majority of them were created over one hundred years ago and belong to a number of dead Victorian writers (if they do not like what I do to their characters, they are free to haunt me). Skinner belongs to the people who made the movie. Anyone in the story that currently goes by the name "Talbot" is my idea (even though there was a Baron Talbot during this time period… mine has nothing to do with the actual person and is a figment of my imagination). You can borrow my characters if you like. Just ask permission first.

The Nautilus arriving anywhere in the world was certain to draw the curious eyes of the locals. The unique and amazing nature of the craft guaranteed that. There was no finer vessel to ever travel the oceans than it and all who saw the wondrous sight of her rising out of the depths could not deny her beauty.

Their current destination, however, was not one Captain Nemo wished to expose his lady to overly much. The British Empire, which sought to spread across the globe and to choke out all other nations, had been a clear representation of everything he hated and the city of London was the symbol of that Empire. Once, in his younger days when his mind was at its narrowest, he would have stated nothing good could come from there since every man, woman, and child would be quickly corrupted by the "superior British" mind-set that emerged with the knowledge of their empire's "greatness." He once looked at Britain and saw only a nation that stole control of various lands from the people who lived there for hundreds of years. Now, he was more willing to recall that an Empire might be corrupt and a threat to the freedom of other nations, _individuals_ that lived in that same empire were human. And humans, regardless of origin, exist with every range of morality. His late first mate, Ishmael, and his fellow League members were proof that good _could_ be found in Britain as easily as anywhere.

Still, years of seeing the British Empire as the enemy and owing a responsibility to his crew's safety, Captain Nemo planned their route carefully so they would dock near the residence of the late Dorian Gray just before dawn. The early hour and the location away from most of the city's traffic should minimize the number of witnesses to their arrival. In his opinion, it was not possible to be too careful when keeping something important safe. This belief included the Nautilus, his steadfast crew, and the entire League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

The man smiled slightly beneath his long, dark beard. It would likely surprise those people who whispered of him, calling him a pirate, to know about this side of him. Undoubtedly, they would never expect the levels of loyalty and respect his crew had towards him and his protective and trusting behavior towards them in return. Above all else, he owed the men who followed him a great deal of responsibility to ensure they were safe. Fulfilling that obligation was the mark of a true leader. People can recognize a true leader and will follow such a person because they know that their leader can be trusted. A leader will be trustworthy towards his followers and they will give unwavering loyalty in return. Nemo placed that trait above all else, which was why Dorian's betrayal of that trust and the murder of his First Mate, someone under Nemo's protection, filled him with such fury.

Ironically, for someone who prized faithfulness above all else, he had a limited number of recipients of his loyalty. His crew definitely received it, but his life had removed other targets of such devotion from the realm of possibility. He had no country that he called home, so he felt no loyalty towards a king, queen, raja, or ruler of any kind or for any nation in general. And family…

He shook his head slightly, trying to pull his thoughts to a less painful topic. Family… all that remained of them was a small picture of a young woman and two children who were lost long ago, along with his old life and identy. He was no longer the man whose dead loved ones occupied that picture. He was no longer Prince Dakkar. He was Nemo, "No One." A person who was "No One" could not have a family and had no reason to feel upset about the loss of another man's family. Nemo had his crew, his lady, and needed nothing…

A stray memory from Mongolia flickered through the Indian's mind. A group of misfits, monsters, and other individuals who were isolated by their uniqueness joined hands momentarily before parting to fulfill their dangerous tasks with the knowledge that they finally had someone to trust. With the sole exception of Sawyer and the late Quatermain, every member of the League was alone. Family, friends, and trustworthy allies either dead or lost to them because of who and what they were. A pirate of incredible scientific skill, a vampire who managed to retain some of her humanity, a doctor with a double life and double mind, or an invisible thief whose very existence spawned fear and suspicion… None could or would be able to live among normal people easily. Even their old tiger, Quatermain, was better suited away from most of society and the narrow-minded views of his fellow man. Only Sawyer, with living relatives and a respectable job (one he was supposedly fulfilling by representing "America's interests within the League," as he'd explained to his superiors in order to remain on the Nautilus), could have a normal life if he chose. The young man would never leave voluntarily, however. He'd found the same thing in the League every other member had discovered, though it was not as rare for Sawyer: acceptance and understanding. No matter their differences, their beliefs, their background, their failures and regrets, their personal demons and curses, or their past crimes, they accepted each other for who they were and they would not allow others to harm their fellow League members. Against the entire world if needed, they would remain united and firm.

Nemo saw each person beyond that single, dooming detail that normal society defined them by. Mina was a brilliant chemist who refused to allow her status as a vampire to define her and assisted in caring for his crew members after the explosion on board the Nautilus. She was not the meek and soft-spoken woman that the British Empire preferred their females to be. Instead, she was one who could take care of herself and others if needed.

And while Dr. Jekyll might feel at times that his only contribution to the League might be his alter-ego's strength and ruthlessness, there was a number of men on board the Nautilus and Skinner specifically who would not likely be alive without his medical skills. How many doctors would have been able to treat a patient that could be partially seen by only the most serious burns, the ones where the skin was dead? Any lesser physician would very likely have failed to treat both the visible injuries and those that weren't perceptible to the eye. Any other doctor would not have saved him. Of course, even Hyde had more potential than it would seem at first. For someone who is supposed to be the pure evil of a man, he had performed acts that could only be described as "noble." He saved the Nautilus after the explosion and even seemed concerned about the safety of the captain during the attack on "M's" fortress against the giant elixir-infused monster. Nemo sometimes wondered if the division that caused Hyde to be Henry's pure evil side was weakening, resulting in the doctor's alter-ego to gain more depth as a person and to be more than a "monster." Either way, he found that both halves of that man were slowly becoming his closest friends.

Skinner might be a thief and might still casually steal small objects from around the vessel, but also seemed to have his own moral code that seemed to work in a rather complicated fashion. Anything he did that was nice would have to include a denial or a joke to conceal his better nature and his friends' stolen belongings would be returned upon request with only a chuckle. The invisible man was easy-going and even-tempered, forgiving the groundless accusations of being a traitor without hesitation. He also provided a unique variety of ways to prevent monotony. He could defuse sensitive and serious situations with a clever comment and seemed to have an endless imagination for annoying and immature behavior. Skinner would never allow someone to dwell on a depressing subject, such as Sawyer about Quatermain's death, without interrupting with a more pleasant distraction than those that their mind might conjure.

Their blond American member, with no obvious special skills beyond his quickly developing marksmanship, was a unique asset to the group. His charisma and natural ability to charm his way into anything he chose, including difficult Quatermain's affections and into the League itself, was greatly impressive. Nemo felt that the young man would be able to convince someone that a punishment was a reward and could even make them pay for the "privilege". He was also a source of youthful energy and determination that kept the spirits up. He did not seem to consider the possibility of failure or giving up. Finally, his lack of outcast status and decision to remain with the League anyway provided hope. If such a normal-seeming person could belong with the outsiders of society so easily and naturally, perhaps the world could grow to be a more welcoming place in time as well.

Each member of the League was an irreplaceable piece of the treasured whole. Nemo couldn't bare the idea of losing another member like they did Quatermain. He was protective of his entire crew and would fight to protect them, but it was far more personal with those few individuals. There was a level of loyalty to the League that he hadn't experienced in years. As he identified the emotions concerning them, he felt surprised and oddly satisfying.

Prince Dakkar might have lost his family many years ago, but Captain Nemo had finally found one of his own.

* * *

Mina was just finishing preparations for the meeting, placing her dark-colored hat on the carefully-styled bun and giving her long scarf a final adjustment, when the familiar faint sensation of the Nautilus rising to the surface hit her. They would be meeting with their British contact, Mycroft Holmes, on the docks before proceeding to Lord James Talbot's city residence in Nemo's new automobile (replacing the one destroyed in Venice).

It was truly amazing to consider that she first stepped onto the Nautilus from these same docks nearly a year ago. So many things had changed since then and yet she, physically at least, was exactly the same. She looked exactly the same as she did that fateful day; she was even wearing the same outfit. The changes in the others' appearances were subtle and small (except for Skinner, who "looked" the same while likely bearing numerous burn scars across his invisible skin). Still, they were changing and aging in the natural progression of time. She no longer obeyed all the laws of nature. Her appearance was frozen at the moment that Dracula changed her life.

In the seven years after the monster's death, she watched her husband age while she didn't. He never said anything and she did her best to hide any sign of what she'd become, but she wondered if he suspected. Perhaps it was a blessing that he died not long after they revisited the evil creature's castle. Jonathan never had to admit that his wife had become a vampire and that he'd ultimately failed to save her when he and Van Helsing killed Dracula. His health, never quite the best to begin with, simply failed him finally. During the time immediately after his death, she first met a certain charming man by the name of Dorian. His flirtations were pleasant, but she was still in mourning for Jonathan and had her son to consider. Even without the added knowledge of her vampirism weighing on her mind, Mina knew she shouldn't continue the relationship at that time with all the variables in her life. She reluctantly broke it off and began to further prepare for her very long future. Her perfectly human son, Quincy, was eventually entrusted to a dear family friend who would take care of him and ensure he received the proper schooling. She had planned to simply fade out of society slowly before her lack of aging became obvious and to allow her son an opportunity at a normal life. Before she managed to completely disappear, "M" found her. That event led to her joining the league, the renewal of a relationship with the handsome (but completely traitorous and vain) Dorian, and destroying him for betraying her personally and the League in general.

Everything from before meeting the League was gone, but the only thing she wished she could change was leaving her son. Despite everything that had occurred, her time on the Nautilus had been among the best months she'd experienced since the night Dracula came into her life. Only her child's absence in her new life was regrettable, but he deserved a better life than what his vampire mother could offer. Quincy's life would be a normal one. And hers would, hopefully, be a happier one than before, if decidedly not normal.

Stepping out of her room, Mina spotted something so incredibly unexpected and unbelievable, she could only stare for a moment in silence. Finally, the auburn-haired vampire found her voice and carefully addressed the oddity as calmly as possible.

"Skinner, where did you get that suit?"

"Henry. He has so many of the stuffy things, on account of Hyde ruining them, that snagging a spare was easier than filching a watch off a drunk," answered the thief, his face painted white and dressed for once in something other than his customary leather jacket.

Giving him a suspicious look, she asked, "You stole his clothes?"

He grinned, "'Stole' is such a strong word. I prefer 'borrowed without permission.' It ain't like I won't give it back or nothing. Why would I want to wear all this normally, Mina?" His cheerful voice tensed slightly and his smile faded, "That _Talbot_ fellow probably wouldn't let anyone in his posh house in my normal get-up. Not that I want to be there, but…" He shrugged and his voice regained his usual tone. "Hope Henry ain't too mad about this or else I'll be in trouble next time Edward comes out to play."

She watched Skinner hurry down the hall, unconsciously noticing that their invisible thief was even wearing shoes. While no one had questioned him further, they hadn't forgotten the strong reaction he had concerning Lord Talbot. Every member of the League had past ghosts that they kept secret, herself included, and they tried to avoid digging into each other's painful pasts. Still, curiosity was part of human nature. She strongly suspected that this meeting would be far more eventful and revealing than anyone expected.

* * *

"Skinner, you know I would have loaned you formal attire, as would Nemo, if you asked. I'm quite certain he has such articles on board somewhere if you required them," Henry explained in a calm, but mildly irritated manner. "The key detail you seemed to have forgotten is to _ask_ first."

The greasepaint-covered features of the invisible thief grinned mockingly, "Must have slipped my mind. You know how forgetful I can be."

"Yes, you seem to forget that certain small objects you happen to get your hands on do not actually belong to you. Such as my cufflinks you 'accidentally' took out of my room last week. And my hat before that," the doctor reminded, indicating the dark top hat he was wearing for the occasion.

He shrugged, but didn't seem at all apologetic. Henry shook his head, knowing that nothing he said would change Skinner's behavior and trying to convince the thief that stealing from friends, no matter how good natured it was intended to be, was a bad idea would ultimately be a waste of time. In the end, Skinner would always be Skinner, their troublesome but honorable gentleman thief.

"With nearly as many secrets as the rest of this League," pointed out Edward as his reflection glinted off a piece of metal as the side panels of the Nautilus opened.

As the ramps lowered to allow the passengers and Nemo's automobile to access the docks, he could make out a man waiting for them in the gray dawn light and the lack of thick early-morning fog. Undoubtedly, it was Mr. Mycroft Holmes, the member of the government who handled important national secrets that were deemed too sensitive or too strange to allow anyone besides the queen and a few key advisors to gain full knowledge of. The man, brother to the famous Sherlock Holmes, contacted the League not long after the events in Mongolia, rescuing the numerous scientists, and Professor Moriarty's death. Undoubtedly, the rescued scientists contacted their government once they returned home, who contacted the British government, which lead to the Holmes family learning the fate of Moriarty and to Mycroft contacting the League with his brother's thanks and an offer. He promised that League's existence would be kept quiet and out of the general public's knowledge. In return, they would allow him to serve as the sole representatives of the British government that they would be willing to talk to. Beyond that first communication, they had not had contact with him until their recent message.

The Holmes name was still a well-known one and Mycroft had been nothing but respectful of the group thus far. Not one word was mentioned by the government official about their less than noble pasts or the unusual traits of certain members, though he was undoubtedly at least partially aware of it. He did not give any evidence that he was uncomfortable dealing with a pirate, a vampire, Hyde, or even an invisible man.

Continuing, Edward reminded, "How many common criminals do you know who plays piano? And who is 'Charlotte'? A past woman of his that did more than slap the cheeky crook, perhaps?"

The doctor refrained from answering his alter-ego's questions. Honestly, he wasn't certain what to think about the unexpected depths of Skinner. The music he and Sawyer heard hadn't been some crude and rowdy song that might be played as a group of drunks sang off-key. It had been more refined and elegant than that, as if it was being performed for a true audience. It hadn't been perfect, but it was beautiful regardless. If he had to describe it, Henry would say the player was out of practice, but extremely familiar with the song once upon a time and still possessed a natural talent. The fact that it was _Skinner_ , however, made the apparent skill of the musician all the more astonishing.

And the identity of the mysterious 'Charlotte' was just as great a puzzle as the invisible man's musical ability. Neither he nor Skinner could recall any hint or comment in any conversation with Skinner about anyone in his past. She could be any one. Henry could, however, make two very small assumptions by the tone of voice he used when he said her name.

Charlotte had been someone very important to Skinner. And he deeply missed her.

"Mr. Holmes, I presume?" asked Sawyer, stepping off the ramp to shake his hand. "I'm glad we could finally meet you in person. I'm Agent Sawyer."

The older man nodded, "Yes, I've heard quite a bit about you and your friends. And it is good to speak in person instead of just transmissions."

"Well, Henry," commented Edward from the reflection of metal, ignoring the polite greetings. "We are back in London. The screams of terror, the familiar streets where sin lurks in the shadows, and the sweet sorrow that flows through the entire city… It is good to be home again."

"Quiet," the doctor muttered softly. "You're not going anywhere. We're just going to find out what Lord Talbot wants from us."

His alter-ego chuckled, "Perhaps we'll be lucky and he'll have proper sport for me to hunt. I do so need a nice challenge. I don't want to get bored, Henry, and you don't want that either. If I start getting creative concerning my entertainment, you'll probably flee back to Paris and solitude."

Perhaps he'd been thinking about the mysterious surrounding their thief too much lately, but Henry found himself muttering in reply, "At least neither of us will be lonely."

Edward didn't immediately react to his words, but when he did, it was in an unbelievable manner. Henry listened to his alter-ego laugh in a way that lacked cruelty or mockery. It was just normal, amused laughter that shouldn't be able to come from Edward. At least, not the Edward he once knew. Moments like this reminded me of his occasional glimmer of humanity he'd been displaying since joining the League.

"I didn't think it was possible," he finally commented when he calmed back down. "Henry, you're finally growing a sense of humor. Now if we can get you a proper spine as well, you might actually stand a chance of catching Mina's attention."

Edward fell silent, leaving the doctor with only his own thoughts for the moment. Unfortunately, Hyde's final words drew the doctor's attention back towards the vampire. She moved gracefully across the ramp, giving Mr. Holmes a cold but polite nod. Even though they agreed to meet and deal with the British Empire through this liaison, they would remain on guard until they could know him better. Until they knew if he could be trusted. They might give him a chance, but "M's" lies and Dorian's betrayal was still fresh in their minds. Not least of all, Mina. Any mention of the aristocratic immortal would be met with a glare and possibly having her grip tighten on whatever she was holding to the point of breaking the object. Skinner would usually end up muttering about fury and a woman scorned when this happened before making a joking remark that she should simply announce her true feelings for the invisible man already, thus breaking the tension and gaining a mildly annoyed threat from Mina about staying out of her room or else she'd demonstrate her "true feelings."

Even now, at her most distant and polite while greeting the government official, Henry thought she was beautiful. He had seen plenty of moments of her warmer nature in the time he'd known her, increasing in frequency as the members of the League grew closer. Those instances where she was a confident chemist, caring nurse assisting him with the injured, or a concerned friend looking at a fairly small cut on Sawyer's forehead after he crashed Nemo's original automobile… they didn't disillusion him from her by destroying her apparent perfection. They served to humanize her. Because she was more than just a beautiful woman, he cared about all the more. But he didn't dare hope for more than her friendship and being her team mate. Between Edward's presence and Tom's obvious feelings for her (and his absolute _normality_ ), Henry had no chance. He had nothing to offer her and, regardless of what his alter-ego might say or hope when the brute was trying to be semi-pleasant, he didn't deserve her.

As Mycroft turned away from Mina, the doctor pulled his mind away from his self-pitying thoughts. Dwelling on what he could not control did nothing useful. He couldn't undo his past. He could not remove Edward Hyde from his life. And he could not gain the love of Mina Harker. On the other hand, he could find ways to make up for his alter-ego's past crimes with his future actions. He could make his peace with Edward's presence and accept his negative qualities (and his rare positive ones). Instead of focusing on what he couldn't change, he should consider what was actually in his power to affect.

Henry, trying to maintain a level of displayed confidence towards the government official, tipped his hat slightly in greetings, "Dr. Jekyll, at your service."

* * *

While he'd heard of similar creations in America, Mycroft had never actually ridden in an automobile before this point. Judging from the descriptions of the American version, he felt confident that Captain Nemo's vehicle was both more effective and more anesthetically pleasing. It was, however, almost too small to fit all five League members, the government official, and the driver. They managed by having the driver, Nemo, and Dr. Jekyll sitting in the front seat and having Mrs. Harker, Agent Sawyer, Mr. Skinner, and Mycroft himself squeeze together in the back seat. Once the difficulty of space was addressed, the dark-haired man relayed the address to the driver and the white and silver vehicle began the journey across London.

The dark-haired man examined the folder in his hand thoughtfully. He wasn't really a field agent in any sense. He rarely went anywhere that wasn't home, his desk, or sometimes the Diogenes Club. But dealing with individuals such as the League required an open-mind and a high-position in the government; a combination rarely found. His brother might have been useful and perhaps even better suited in some ways, but they needed the League to be able to trust the _government_. The group members were powerful and strong-willed individuals; the horrors that could erupt if they remained a completely unaligned force or even turned against the Empire were too potential to ignore. They could also be great assets. Either way, the British Empire needed the League to at least be mildly sympathetic and open to them. If they trusted even a single member of Her Majesty's government, a difficult task, they might be willing to side with Britain if the threat of war should ever erupt again. In order to reach any level of trust and mutual respect, it would require face to face interactions. Thus, he couldn't depend on his brother to do the legwork in this case.

Mycroft was resigned to his fate of performing this role for once. He was more suited for working behind a desk, taking in information and sending it out to the most suitable destinations. He could organize, examine pattern, search vast collected intelligence for the key detail, and, most importantly, keep secrets. He wasn't Sherlock. He was not a man meant to race through the streets of London in disguise and to deduce a criminal's plan by the content of their waistcoat pocket. He was not a detective. The older brother was a man who preferred less strenuous ways to achieve his goals. With his keen understanding of the inner workings of every aspect of the bureaucracy, his knowledge of a variety of national secrets, and his nearly irreplaceable position in the government as the one to go to with any important developments concerning anything of interest, he could practically run the entire government (if not the entire empire) if he had someone to run around doing the actual physical activities and such an event was necessary. Large-scale awareness and an understanding of bureaucracy was his specialty, rather than the more small-scale and practical knowledge his brother employed to solve mysteries. But that didn't mean he could not work on a more personal and active role when absolutely necessary.

"Lord James Talbot is a baron with a very small property whose main reason for significance is the large shipping company he manages, helping to reclaim his family's fortune after his grandfather nearly bankrupted the barony over a century ago," Mycroft explained, reading from the files. "While not considerably prominent or important in his own right beyond that monetary aspect, his wife's family and the wife of his son's have provided him with enough connections and influence that he learned of the League's existence, if not all the details of the members or your capability." Meaning he did not know about Mina being a vampire, the presence of the "infamous pirate" Captain Nemo, the existence of a new invisible man after Griffin's death, or any of the other extraordinary individuals. Most of the group nodded in understanding of his unspoken statement. Continuing, he read, "His shipping company moves goods along all major trade routes, including exporting textiles, coal, and steel to a number of markets and importing tea from Asia, gold from Australia, and diamonds from South Africa along with more mundane cargo. His wife comes from a respectable family; her brother is a very skilled politician and has also extended his wealth remarkably well in the last four decades. Lord Talbot also has two surviving children. His son, who will inherit the barony someday, is married to a lady with even more political connections due to her relations. His daughter, several years younger than her sibling, is engaged to the heir of another, slightly larger barony whose family owns one of the most productive diamond mines in South Africa. This marriage would give Lord Talbot's shipping company exclusive rights to transport those diamonds throughout the Empire."

He paused, trying to study the expressions of the League members he could see. Nemo and Dr. Jekyll could hear him speaking in the front seat, but he could not view their faces to judge their reactions. Mrs. Harker looked politely interested, but didn't allow her feature's to reveal her thoughts. Mr. Skinner seemed to be ignoring most of what Mycroft was saying. The greasepaint-covered man was staring out the window intently, almost tensely. Agent Sawyer was listening to government agent with clear curiosity. The blond American simply had an expressive face that didn't seem to be able to conceal his thoughts.

Mycroft admitted, "When I was first approached with the request to contact you, I was a little reluctant. Lord Talbot refused to explain why he needs our assistance and maintains that his problem must be kept secret. Thus, even I do not know why you have been brought to London. However, his familial connections and the amount of valuable cargo his ships transport throughout the Empire enable him to be able to request the best individuals available for his problem and he has decided that the League is the right choice."

"So the only one who has even a remote idea of what we're in for is the man who only has a vague idea of who we are," summarized Sawyer. "And that is assuming we decide to help him. Is that correct?"

Mycroft nodded, "Unfortunately, yes. As I said, Lord Talbot is firm in his decision to maintain secrecy about whatever problem he wants your help solving. Other than myself and a few other government officials, no one is even aware there _is_ a problem." He frowned, "My guess, lacking any sort of evidence to work with, would be something dealing with his shipping companies. When I informed him that we would have to await your arrival since you were at sea, he seemed slightly relieved that you had aquatic transportation. It could be something trivial or it could be the first hints of another real threat to the Empire; without more information, we just don't know."

"Let us hope it is simply an overreaction of a man with too much influence," stated Mrs. Harker.

"And not a true crisis that threatens lives," Captain Nemo added from the front seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was a little slow, but it did allow a nice glimpse into the minds of some of the characters and it is laying some of the frame work for what is to come. Nemo always struck me as someone with some very interesting insight after all. But don't worry; the action will pick up as the story progresses. You should also be gaining a few answers (and a few more questions) soon. You'll also get to meet Lord Talbot in the next chapter.
> 
> And don't expect Mycroft Holmes to be around the entire story either. I did borrow him from the Sherlock novels since he fit the job I needed him to fulfill. He's supposed to be as smart as his younger brother, to be part of the government, to essentially be a human database of knowledge that the British government has, and to be simply less driven than the detective. He will not be joining them on the adventure. I might add other cameos by literary character if they fit, but I make no guarantees.


	3. Lord Talbot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what? You're about to learn stuff. Specifically, you're going to learn some more information about the Victorian era by reading this story. Isn't that wonderful? Okay, I'm done with the sarcasm. I wanted this to be fairly authentic, which means I did the research. Thus, I will be sharing some of this information with you too. That way, you can appreciate the efforts I'm making to have the behavior of characters correct in different situations. So, here is some proper Victorian era info and etiquette.
> 
> The London social season (when a larger number of the aristocrats would be in the city instead of the country) was during May, June, and July to match with the Parliament being in session. This was a time for women to be paying calls to one another and for balls, dinners, and other activities to occur so ladies could gain husbands once they are eighteen and "come out" socially (marriages aren't "technically" arranged anymore, but the proper husband candidate choice could be encouraged by her family). Whenever calling on a member of the upper class at home, they generally do not arrive before the hour of lunch. Men always wear hats (and usually gloves) while out in public. Men remove their hat, but not their gloves during formal visits. Ladies must always wear gloves in public, in church, and in the company of nonfamily members and would be considered highly improper to be seen without them (unless she is eating). A lady would not remove her bonnet or shawl unless in the presence of a very close friend and would then have another woman assist in their removal. Men remain standing whenever women in the room are standing. They do not lean against the wall. They do not meddle or stare at objects in the room, nor walk around the room and stare at pictures while waiting for the host or hostess. In fact, they do not touch or move anything in the room or check their watch or act like they notice anything except the company. In public, it is considered proper to not use first names when addressing someone, unless it is necessary due to the presence of younger members of the same family. Finally, while it is typically considered inappropriate for an unmarried lady to be alone with a man or to travel at night alone (in fact, unmarried girls do not travel alone period), a lady who is returning after dark from visiting another family on her own may either accept the escort of a servant back to her home or from her host personally. In that case, she would need someone there to meet her at home so that the innocent nature of the interaction could be proven.
> 
> But the personalities and backgrounds of the characters have to also be taken into account. Mina and Henry should be fairly familiar with these actions due to the fact they were members of the middle and upper middle class prior to joining the League. They would have dealt with upper class enough to understand these manners (though Mina does not seem to like being treated or acting as anything less than an equal). Nemo is also likely familiar with them, but he follows his own code that works just as well and is close enough in most aspects. And while Tom has most of the basic manners (like treating women with respect and other obvious ones), he is both from another country and another social class originally. He would not know all of these particular etiquette rules. And Skinner… wouldn't care what is consider polite behavior anyway. None of the League members are this formal with each other any longer, but some will try to behave towards this upper class stranger. In addition, Lord Talbot might care more about proper etiquette than some people, but his own personality and views will affect his behavior towards the League.
> 
> Okay, sorry about the long note again. I'm just determined to do this story right. Any relevant historical/literary/folkloric/useful/interesting info connected to the chapter will always be presented. Some facts will be more useful than other, but all of it is connected somehow to my research. Later on, these should be shorter (hopefully…). I'm also raising the rating to "T" due to the fact I might use (British) cursing at some point, but nothing that wasn't in the movie itself (which was most said by the late Quatermain, I noticed…). As long as you aren't offended by the word "bloody" or similar phrases, you should be fine. But I still felt it would only be right to warn you now, while it is near the beginning of the story.

With his position in the American Secret Service, Tom had been in his share of fancy and expensive locations. He had seen a variety of ways to display wealth, ranging from the extravagant to the subdued. As a representative of his country's government, he was not supposed to react strongly to such things since it would portray him as an uncultured boy who had never set foot outside of his own hometown and was easily impressed. The image of a naïve and inexperienced child was not the one that should be portrayed to influential people of another country.

That didn't change the fact that he was impressed by such things. He grew up in the small town of St. Petersburg in Missouri. He didn't grow up surrounded by these old families who had enough money to never work a day if they didn't want to. No one he knew during his childhood was so wealthy that they could essentially waste it on frivolous things. Regardless of his later experiences in the Secret Service or seeing Dorian's library or the fact he now lived on the Nautilus (a vessel that was just as amazing as any other human invention in the world, if not even more so), he couldn't help being impressed by the home of Lord Talbot. It was even more overwhelming when he remembered the aristocrat would also have another residence in the countryside.

The man who opened the door gave the entire group a scrutinizing examination in a matter of seconds. His gaze paused briefly on a few members, but his face remained impassive and neutral the entire time. Finally, his eyes settled on Mycroft.

With more politeness than Tom thought it was possible to fit into a person's tone, the man greeted, "Mr. Holmes, my Lord Talbot said you might be escorting his guests this morning. He did request, however, that since this hour is not considered a polite one for guests to be calling on the residents and that he wishes to keep the party involved as small as possible, you might be willing to allow your friends to proceed unaccompanied. It would be an extreme favor to him and he offers his deepest regards to you in return."

"Which is a nice way to say 'get lost'," muttered Skinner softly.

Mycroft looked vaguely disappointed, but unsurprised by the request. He nodded slowly and began to turn away.

"If you would like, Mr. Holmes, you may ride in my automobile to your destination," offered Captain Nemo. "The vehicle should be able to transport you and return here by the time this meeting is complete."

The man, surprised by the unexpected offer, took a moment to respond. Eventually, he smiled and nodded to the former pirate. Nemo gestured to the crew member who had accompanied them. The individual opened the automobile's door me, and indicated for Mycroft to enter.

"If you would accompany me, my Lord Talbot left word for you to be brought to the parlor upon arriving," the servant remarked solemnly. "He also instructed that you be provided with anything you might require within reason."

He led the League members into the building, closing the door behind them. As he entered, Henry removed his hat and held it in his hands. Skinner shoved his gloved hands deeper into his "borrowed" jacket and stared towards the floor intently. Mina straightened slightly into an even more graceful posture than her normal one. Captain Nemo remained exactly the same.

Every inch of the town house seemed to be designed to impress visitors. Marble, carved woods, and precious metals were magnificently represented, as well as more exotic treasures that were likely collected by the man's shipping company. A single section of the hallway or one of the connecting rooms would be worth a small fortune.

The parlor itself followed the rest of the house's trend of elegance. Shelves lined most of one wall and all of another, displaying a small selection of books and numerous small decorations. The rest of the walls was covered with green striped wallpaper with paintings of country sides and several similar-looking people (likely members of the Talbot family line) framed in gold-gilded frames hanging on it. Near an unlit fireplace was a matching pair of dark red, velvet-cushioned chairs with dark wood, carved-clawed legs. White, lace dollies were placed across the back of them. A couch of a shimmering golden shade, bearing a set of embroidered pillows, rested further away next to a long table with a floral-patterned fabric with a yellow fringe ran across it. A piano took up the corner closest to the window, which were framed by ivy-patterned curtains with gold trim. A burgundy rug with another, different floral pattern covered most of the wood floor and looked expensive.

"If you would kindly wait here, I will inform my Lord of your arrival," requested the servant, retreating back into the house.

While Henry, Mina, and Nemo remained stationary in the center of the room, Tom and Skinner began slowly examining the room. He assumed the thief was searching for valuable object he could slip into his pockets, but he was looking out of curiosity. It would help pass the time and possibly offer clues about the resident.

Most of the titles displayed on the shelves seemed to be either classical literature or very modern pieces that would be considered sensational and popular. Few of them, however, showed many signs of being read. A couple of them might have been examined once, but most appeared to be in new condition. Likely the literature that was actually read would be in the library, but these acted as decoys. The shelves were lined books that it was "proper" to own, but no one really read them.

The trinkets were elegant, expensive, and… pointless. They were arranged in the most anesthetically-pleasing way possible amongst the few books and on the mantle, but revealed nothing personal about the people who owned them. The wax flowers, porcelain statuettes, a displayed collection of butterflies, painted vases, Greek-like busts, and gleaming metal figurines might be beautiful, but they serve only to decorate. Tom doubted there were any family heirlooms (beyond the portraits on the wall) or special gifts chosen by loved ones present in the room. Everything seemed to be chosen because of the effect they would have on visitors.

The piano, at least, showed signs of use. Several keys showed evidence of wear, as if someone normally spent hours each day playing music until the images of their fingertips were imprinted on the ivory. Sheets of music still rested on the instrument, the current song displayed listed as "Brahms' Piano Sonata No. 3 in F Minor, Op. 5." That particular page was yellowed with age and the corners were dog-eared, further demonstrating the obvious often use of the instrument.

The only other, semi-personal objects in the entire room were a series of silver, oval picture frames of different sizes resting on a small table in the corner. Five people were repeated displayed in the black and white images, four of them appearing the most often. An older gentleman, his hair mostly white with a few remaining darker hairs mixed in, with a short, trim mustache and a white-haired, dignified woman of similar years were often displayed together. A young man around his early to mid-thirties with dark hair and identical styled mustache stood by a light-haired woman, possibly his wife, in the single picture she appeared in and stood on his own or with the older married couple in all other appearances. The final person was a pretty girl who looked around sixteen to eighteen years old. Her hair color was lighter than the man, but not quite light enough to be blond. Tom would guess it would be a light brown or reddish shade in real life. If he assumed that these pictures represented Lord Talbot, his wife, his son and his wife, and the daughter, there seemed to be over a decade and a half of difference between the siblings' ages.

The approach of footsteps drew the blond American's attention back to the door just in time for their host to arrive. The white-haired man, the few dark hairs present in the photograph had left in the last few years, was well-dressed and seemed wide awake even at this early hour. His demeanor did not seem to suggest he was in such a great level of trouble that he was meeting secretly with a group in the early morning. Instead, he was calm and collected as he stepped into the room. In fact, he moved with an air of confidence, if not arrogance. He didn't remind Tom of a man in need of help so much as he reminded him of Dorian.

Like the servant did earlier, the elderly gentleman ran his gaze across the group's faces in inspection. Unlike earlier, the examiner's reactions were not quite concealed beneath a mask of indifference. He gave Henry a fairly neutral look and he seemed respectful (if slightly patronizing) when he glanced at Mina, but no one else seemed to meet his approval. The man gave Skinner a look of surprise, confusion, and slight distaste (the invisible thief was purposely acting indifferent to his presence, which might be contributing to the baron's reaction), but did not seem to recognize the individual. Nemo produced an expression of contempt and superiority from the man. Tom had the feeling that the only reason he received a look of _mild_ displeasure was because the man didn't know for certain he was American yet. If Skinner was right, he would gain the full arrogant disgust the moment he spoke and his voice proved his nationality.

"I assume you are the mysterious and effective League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, correct?" he began. "I am Baron James Talbot."

"It is an honor," Henry answered somewhat nervously as he took the lead. "I am Dr. Henry Jekyll. These are my associates, Mrs. Wilhelmina Harker." He indicated the woman, who nodded her head slightly and smiled at the aristocrat. It was a polite smile, but not a warm one. "Captain Nemo of the Nautilus," he introduced next. Judging by the baron's frown, he recognized the name of the former pirate. Continuing, Henry indicated the blond young man, "This is Special Agent Tom Sawyer." Trying to be at least somewhat friendly, Tom extended his hand. Lord Talbot did not shake it. "And finally, Mr…"

"Skinner," the greasepaint-covered thief interrupted. "Just Skinner."

"I see…" replied the aristocrat, eyeing the strange-looking man who was examining the expensive objects on the shelves and quietly stalking around the room in apparent disregard of the baron's existence. Turning his attention towards Mina, Lord Talbot suggested in a respectful and polite voice, "If the lady would like, she may visit with my wife and my son's in the secondary drawing room while we discuss business. These matters are of an unpleasant and unnerving nature not fit for the delicate ears of the weaker sex. Nor should this matter be risked becoming idle gossip. I am sure you understand, Mrs. Harker, and you will certainly find conversation with the other women more interesting."

The member of the _weaker_ sex, who was perfectly capable of killing the man with minimal effort, met his condescending smile with one of her own, "Lord Talbot, while I appreciate your concern for my delicate ears, I have to decline the offer. I do not indulge in idle gossip, I have a stronger constitution than you seem to believe possible, and it is not polite to invite us into your home before immediately dismissing one member like one of your servants." The polite, but patronizing smile was absent now as she finished, "You seem to take the _Gentlemen_ part of the League's name too literally."

Tom thought he heard a soft chuckle from Skinner as she finished. He was struggling not to smile himself as Lord Talbot frowned in response to Mina's words. She had a true talent at delivering a scathing insult in a polite and condescending fashion. He still remembered her commenting about him being "sweet" and "young" before her blunt attempt to halt his efforts to win her over. She had mellowed out as everyone became better acquainted, but she could still demonstrate a sharp-edged tongue. But that particular obstacle did not deter Tom from caring about her. It was, however, entertaining to watch the reaction of a stranger to her. Mostly, Lord Talbot looked mildly angry and embarrassed at being verbally beaten by a woman. Maybe he feared losing face with the group or he might actually just believe it was impossible for a female to have a quick mind. The American felt this was fairly ironic for a member of a country with a Queen ruling.

Apparently deciding to tread on less dangerous ground, the baron looked at Tom and asked, "Are you part of Her Majesty's Service, Agent Sawyer?"

"No, America's" he answered, watching the aristocrat's expression darken slightly.

"I see…," the elderly man repeated. He turned away from the blond young man and focused solely on Henry, proving Skinner's prediction on his behavior. In an arrogant tone, he remarked, "Dr. Jekyll, I suppose you are wondering why it is I have summoned you here today. I assure you it is for a grievous and terrible matter."

Every moment they spent around this man only increased the uncomplimentary parallels Tom was drawing between him and Dorian. Not only had he managed to alienate everyone in the room within a short time with either his disgusted expression or belittling words, but now he was implying they were under his employ. They had come at his _request_ because they chose to, not because this man had any ability or right to order them around. This arrogant aristocrat had no power over them, regardless of what he believed. Tom was beginning to consider taking a page out of Skinner's book and begin slipping objects into his pockets. He had no doubts that the thief had already liberated several valuables that Lord Talbot would never see again.

"We are, indeed, curious about the situation," acknowledged Nemo. "We assumed you would not _ask_ for our assistance if the issue was not grave."

The baron flashed a look of distaste at the Indian captain speaking to him and implied correction about their arrival, but continued, "It all began this spring, before we returned from the estate. The Honorable Charles Ashmore, heir to his family's barony, had requested permission this winter to wed my daughter and I granted it. They are to marry in September, once he returns from visiting the mine in Africa that his family owns. A month before we moved into the town house at the start of the social season, I received a letter from an unknown source ordering word to be sent to the Honorable Mr. Ashmore to turn over a certain gemstone or they would kidnap my daughter and his future bride. The audacity of _ordering_ me… I ignored the insulting letter."

"What gemstone?" asked Tom, torn between curiosity and frustration that he apparently didn't care enough about his daughter's safety to worry about a threat against her.

He waved his hand dismissively at the questioner and the asker, "One he obtained from a close friend, Mr. Edward Heron-Allen, shortly before he left. It is called the Delhi Purple Sapphire and, while an impressive enough stone, is not unmatchable in quality. It is valuable and of large size, but Lord Ashmore's diamond mine has produced gems of larger and finer quality."

The blond American glanced over at Skinner, wondering how the thief would react to this particular discussion. He might decide to steal the Delhi Purple Sapphire himself. The greasepaint-covered man looked even tenser than he had been since arriving. He had stopped his previous stalking and was standing eerily still across the room. While he had given every impression of not caring about the conversation earlier, Tom could see that he was now listening to every word intently. His head was turned away from the baron, but his dark glasses made it difficult to know for certain where he was looking.

"Not long after we moved into the town house, my daughter was calling on her future mother-in-law and remained longer than she planned. Lady Ashmore offered a servant to escort her home," Lord Talbot continued. "The servant arrived several hours later. Charlotte did not."

The familiar name caused Tom and Henry to exchange concerned looks. Another glance towards the thief demonstrated he had given up the pretenses of ignoring the discussion, confirming the pair's suspicions that this young lady and Skinner's "Charlotte" was the same individual. He was staring towards the aristocrat intently and his gloved hands, no longer in his pockets, were drawn into fists at his sides. Nemo and Mina, seeing the odd reactions, shot questioning looks towards their fellow League members. Skinner didn't seem to notice the expressions or his friends' presence at all. Tom and Henry didn't know how to respond to their unspoken inquiries and remained silent.

The white-haired baron seemed oblivious to the silent exchange of glances and proceeded, "The servant had been knocked out, by some low class piece of gutter trash hired by the impertinent writer of that letter, no doubt. I paid the servant for his silence about the matter, threatened my own with the loss of their jobs if they spoke of it, and had my wife spread the excuse that the girl is ill to explain her absence at social events. Such an event could be devastating to our family if handled poorly, thus I did not alert the authorities to this event. I received another letter the next day from the same source, promising her immediate return if I send word to her future husband to deliver the stone to a location in Kenya he named, leading me to believe she has been smuggled out of the country. I required a way to fix this matter without it becoming public knowledge or being reduced to taking orders from such people. When my connection to those in power led to learning of the League's existence three weeks after my daughter's kidnapping, I recognized the potential…"

"Three weeks? You bloody wait three weeks to tell anyone she's missing?" snapped the normally easy-going thief, his voice nearly unrecognizably harsh and advancing across the room. "You're worried more about your family name than your actual family, ain't you? I shouldn't be surprised, but you found a new way to be a poor excuse of a father."

Gaping in shock at the verbal explosion, Lord Talbot responded, "How dare you speak to me in such a fashion? I am protecting my family from a scandal. My daughter, unmarried and held in hostage by immoral, strange men with villainous intents with only her word of what occurred while in their hands? Even if they do not actually touch her, her reputation would be soiled as certainly as if she danced in the street naked. Her upcoming marriage and all that would bring to our family would be undone, everyone would view her as no better than the lowest streetwalker, and she would become a burden and disgrace to her family. It would be a black mark against the Talbot legacy for all time. I know a loyal and proper girl like my daughter would rather die at the hands these heartless monsters than to suffer through the tragedy by having her name and her family dragged through the mud. I will not allow it."

"So you risk your child rather than your precious reputation. You guard a _name_ while tossing your flesh and blood to the wolves," he clarified coldly. "And I thought Dorian was a traitor. You think you're better than anyone else because you have money and a title, nothing more than a _word_. You think you deserve respect because you were lucky enough to be born in a family of lazy dandies who couldn't win a fight against a complete drunk if your life depended on it? Without all those fancy titles that were handed to you when you were a whining child by your own useless parents who gained theirs the same way, you ain't nothing more than a daft, old, heartless fool. I'd be careful with your precious heir to the barony, sir. You're running out of children trying to protect your 'legacy'."

"Skinner," Mina glared slightly, but without any real venom in the expression. She didn't seem to particularly agree with Lord Talbot's apparently uncaring behavior concerning his kidnapped daughter, but she _did_ seem to think that last comment was particularly cruel of the thief. "Please."

Turning towards Henry, the baron demanded angrily, "Doctor, control your employee's tongue. I will not be spoken to in this manner in my home. By some _lower-class_ , pale-faced _freak_ , no less. No better than thieves and murders, the lot of them. The police should arrest all that filth on the East End." He glanced around the room in disgust before looking back at an increasingly-uncomfortable Henry, "This League is not what I expected either. Foreign trash, women forgetting their place enough to travel without their husband's presence, and gutter slime who speak to their betters in an insolent tone. This hardly gives confidence in your abilities and I'm beginning to believe I was mistaken in summoning you."

"And I am beginning to believe we should never have decided to accept your invitation," Captain Nemo pointed out, frowning at him as he stepped forward. "Since we arrived, you have given us no reason to help you."

"No, we're rescuing her," corrected Skinner, just as Tom and Henry knew he would. "But not for him. This old rat isn't worth it, but that doesn't mean Charlotte should suffer because her father is a selfish monster. She deserves better than that."

Something in the thief's tone caught the white-haired man's attention and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "What is my daughter to you?" After a moment, an idea seemed to strike him and he chuckled mockingly, "I'm certain I would have remembered employing an albino, especially one so disrespectful. Perhaps you caught a glimpse of her, maybe riding in a carriage on her way to a ball last summer or the one before, and you thought you had a chance of winning her? Like out of those cheap novels of star-crossed lovers? Whatever is in your head about her is impossible and even laughable. She is engaged to a respectable young man and she undoubtedly has no knowledge of your existence. I learned long ago not to allow my children to interact with members of the lower class since their vulgar and wretchedness could rub off, sullying them beyond redemption."

Tom, the closest League member, grabbed Skinner's arm as it shot out towards a heavy-looking book. It would probably be very satisfying for everyone if he bashed the aristocrat over the head until consciousness was reached, but it would also make things worse in the long run. Just like it would be if they turned him over to Hyde or Mina had him for dinner. The short term reward would be out-weighed by the long-term consequences. The blond young man just satisfied himself with imagining what Aunt Polly would have done to Lord Talbot for this type of behavior. The arrogant and rather rude baron would have found himself whitewashing fences before he could blink.

The aristocrat looked back towards the rest of the League, "I will find a more reliable and appropriate method to handle this matter. The League is not what I expected and unsatisfactory for the task. I no longer require your assistance or presence."

"I don't know about that," remarked Tom, gaining a vaguely evil smile that he directed towards the elderly gentleman. "I think you're going to tell us what you know about the location in Kenya, allow us to rescue your daughter, and not say another word against any of us."

"And why would I…"

"Because," the blond American continued, interrupting Lord Talbot, "it would be our responsibility to inform the authorities of your family's misfortune. If we aren't the ones taking care of it, we need to ensure it is handled responsibly. The police, the government, the newspaper… I'm sure one of them will be helpful. Or we could talk to one of your fellow barons or other aristocrats and see if they have any ideas of how to rescue her?"

The white-haired man openly gaped at the youngest League member, who returned the expression with one of stubborness. Tom could see his friends directing looks of smug success towards the baron, though Skinner seemed to have a mixture of smugness, hatred, and evil pleasure at Lord Talbot being out-foxed. The blond young man and the aristocrat were locked in a silent battle of wills; they were staring firmly at each other, waiting for the other to give in. It was only a matter of time.

As if arriving to serve as a distraction, a grey-haired woman dressed in a servant's garb came into the room bearing a silver tray covered in articles for tea. She seemed to understand immediately she'd stepped into a tense situation, but couldn't quite bring herself to retreat the room without fulfilling her duty. The woman, maybe ten years younger than her employer, stiffened her shoulders as she proceeded to carry her tray while all eyes followed her movements. As the servant placed her burden on the table, Lord Talbot finally responded to her unexpected presence.

"Mrs. Hopkins, I left orders not to be disturbed," he snapped in an authoritative tone.

"I'm sorry, my Lord," she murmured. "I was just…"

"Leave the tray and leave now. Do not enter this room again until after our business is complete," he ordered sharply.

"Yes, my Lord," she nodded hurriedly before scurrying out of the room.

The baron, trying to calm down and adopt his earlier image of confident control and aristocratic aloofness, turned towards the group. He shifted his gaze around the room once more, his expression giving the impression that he could not care less about any of the previous events in the room and found the individuals unpleasantly boring. Still, Tom could make out the frustration and disdain boiling beneath the surface once again. Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he pulled out a folded piece of paper. He handed it towards Henry.

"The location where the gemstone is supposed to be exchanged is in the letter. That is all I know about this entire ordeal. Take it and get out of my house," he stated coldly.

"Gladly," muttered Skinner, heading out the door as the doctor accepted the letter.

The rest of the League did not take long to follow his lead. The invisible man had certainly been correct in his description of Lord Talbot's personality. The American really couldn't blame the thief for his reluctance to set foot in this household, let alone deal with the man in person. And if his suspicions were even remotely true…

Tom, being the last one to leave the room, caught sight of the unfortunate servant hiding behind the door. Because his Aunt Polly did her best to drill manners into him growing up, he paused for a moment and gave her a friendly smile.

"Thanks for trying to offer us some tea. It was a nice gesture."

She seemed uneasy, as if waiting to be scolded again, but she slowly asked, "Forgive my forwardness, sir, but… are you… here about Miss Talbot? About…," she paused, her mature features twisting into one of uncertain fear before proceeding with her dangerous question, "…her kidnapping?"

"We're going to find her," he confirmed. "We'll rescue her and bring her home."

The servant smiled warmly at the answer, "Thank you, sir. She's a good one. My Lord is a difficult man to serve at times, my Lady is not one to go against his word, and Master Victor Talbot is like his father, but Miss Talbot is different. She is more like her other…" She stopped and shook her head slightly. "She is a kinder soul, but still a little spirited. I've known her since she was a baby and I can't imagine what could be happening to her. Trapped and held in the hands of those…"

"Don't worry," he assured as she began to get worked up with concern. "I promise we'll save her."

She sighed, "Thank you, sir. Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I know the whole chapter was in Tom's point of view. He was ideal for this chapter. Don't worry; there will be plenty of the other League members in the future. And you only have some of the puzzle pieces so far. I can almost guarantee that you will be surprised by what other facts and events are coming. Things are rarely what they seem.
> 
> Second, everything in the parlor room is era appropriate. The decorations, patterns, furnishing style, and even the sheet music are correct. "Brahms' Piano Sonata No. 3 in F Minor, Op. 5" is a piece written in 1853, consists of five movements and is about forty minutes long in total. I also researched the appropriate ways for various aristocrats, their wives, and their children to be addressed by a variety of people. That way, the story continues to be as authentic in style as possible. Even more interesting is that Edward Heron-Allen was a real person and the Delhi Purple Sapphire is a real gemstone with a very interesting history. I'll share more about it later or you could look it up if you're very curious now.
> 
> Third, the people currently bearing the name "Talbot" (which, as you now know, includes James, his wife, Victor, his wife, and Charlotte) are my invention. Actually, everyone who isn't a character from the movie and/or literary works or is an actual real person (like Mr. Heron-Allen) is from the dark recesses of my mind.


	4. Stolen Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to learn again! There is going to be some flashbacks later in this chapter (don't worry, you'll recognize them when you see them), so there will be some even more information to share this time. Specifically, there will be a glimpse into Skinner's past. Hooray, criminal tendencies!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victorian era's definition of crime is, at times, a little extreme seeming (you could get arrested for knocking on someone's door and running away). But some is fairly obvious crimes, like the variety of types of stealing. Some areas also have a tendency to have particular types of criminals. While the West End was mostly made up of the upper class, the East End tended to have the pickpockets and other minor criminals hanging around, South London was more slum-like, and Whitechapel is where the infamous Jack the Ripper murders occurred in 1888-1889. On the bright side, gun crimes were practically unheard of until in the 1880s due to the fact that having a firearm would guarantee little leniency in courts. That didn't stop the criminals from being creative. One common trick was to wait around a corner for your victim, cover his/her face with a hat to blind and confuse them, and then rob them ("bonneting"). Another was for a woman to lure children into an alley, steal their clothes and belongings, and to leave them standing alone naked after being robbed. Some thieves even managed to use chloroform when stealing so that they could knock their victims out first. And even without guns, there were those who would harm their victim in the process of stealing.
> 
> And there is a whole range of criminal slang to describe the criminal, the crime, and even the tools of the trade. A "hunter" is a common street robber, a "palmer" is a shoplifter, a "cracksman" is a burglar, a "screwman" is safe-cracker or just a burglar who is effective at dealing with locks instead of simply breaking in, and "dippers," "drunken-rollers," and "toolers" are all types of pickpockets. A "duffer" sells stolen goods, a "blower" is a snitch to the cops, a "kidsman" would be an adult organizer of child thieves (like out of "Oliver Twist"), and a "crow" or "canary" is a look-out for a burglar (the term depends on the gender). A burglar's tool kit would generally include a rope, a dark-lantern, a knife for cutting glass, a "jimmy" (crowbar for windows and doors), a "cutter" (tool for cutting woodwork), a set of "betties" (lock picks), a "jack" (tool for removing iron bars), and everything would be wrapped up in a "list" (a strip of cloth for holding tools that could be easily dropped in an emergency so the cops wouldn't find you with them). And after they have a hard day of breaking the law, our criminals could head over to a "flash house" (a public house patronized by criminals where they can socialize, sell goods, or pick up new tricks) or to "rookeries" (nests of alleys, courtyards, and dead end streets that are essentially crime neighborhoods and/or slums), though there were fewer of those in the late Victorian era as certain areas were renovated. Of course, there are plenty of other slang terms for the same or similar things, but here are just some examples.
> 
> Of course, if you're picked up by the "coppers," you could find yourself spending months to years in one of the prisons such as Newgate or Wormwood (happily, Australia had started complaining in the 1830s about being Britain's dumping ground for criminals, so that particular fate was no longer as common). Before, prisons were just a place to hold the criminals until they were tried and punished. Now, they were a punishment themselves. Starting in the 1860s, they began the "Hard labor, hard ware, hard board" regimen with the inmates. This included unpleasant and pointless tasks like working a treadmill that didn't accomplish anything or picking apart old ropes for hours to be recycled into new ropes, eating a monotonous and dull diet, and sleeping on a hard wooden bed. This type of thing was experienced by men, women, and children. While a series of Reformatory schools (which were like jails for kids where they are supposed to learn stuff in the vague hope that educating them would help them find another life than crime and to keep them away from bad influences at home or in prison, but it was mostly still just a jail) began to form between 1854 and 1857, many children were still sent to prisons alongside adults. There were some rules about punishing children. In 1847, it was declared that children under the age of fourteen should be charged in a special court instead of an adult one. In the 1850s, anyone under fourteen years old was convicted of simple larceny could only be imprisoned up to three months. In the 1860s, any child whose offense would result in over fourteen days in prison, could (but not necessarily would) be sent to a Reformatory school for at least one year, but no more than five years. It wasn't until 1899 (the year that "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" movie was set) that children were no longer sent to adult prisons at all. While they were generally a little more lenient with first-time offenders of all ages, repeat offenders would often receive far harsher punishments for the same crime the second time around.

For the first time in months, the League was experiencing an awkward silence. Absolutely no one in the automobile could think of what to way in this situation. Normally, a joking remark would have been muttered by now and the tense silence would have been broken. This time, however, the usual instigator of such comments was in the center of the situation and was currently so wrapped up in a fuming silence that no one wanted to intrude on his thoughts. It was unnerving to see the easy-going Skinner angry, even if that Lord Talbot's personality rubbed everyone the wrong way.

"You should have taken the elixir and let _me_ handle him," growled Edward, his image reflected slightly in the window. "Even if I didn't rip the pompous aristocrat's arms off, I'm certain I could teach him some respect. Or fear, at least."

Henry glared slightly at the reflection, but didn't answer out loud. He was not going to get into an argument with his alter-ego in front of everyone. He had already had to listen to the brute's commentary in the parlor, which consisted of increasingly colorful insults and threats directed towards the baron. For a _very_ short second, the doctor had considered the idea. The man had a talent for getting on everyone's bad side.

Continuing, Edward rationalized, "No one would miss him. And I doubt anyone would argue that he doesn't deserve whichever of my 'creative ideas' I would have chosen to employ against him. I was particularly looking forward to trying to tie his spine into a knot. I would have finally been able to enjoy myself and the world would have been a better place. They would likely reward you for it. I know Skinner would have been happier."

The doctor's eyes flickered to the greasepaint-covered thief momentarily. By the end of the meeting, he knew that Skinner wanted to knock the smug man's head off. Every action the invisible man made and every word he spoke supported Henry's developing theory about his past. Skinner definitely knew Lord Talbot personally, but the baron demonstrated no recognition of the gentleman thief. Possibly they encounter each other before Skinner gained his invisibility and did not recognize those features covered in greasepaint. Even more certain was that Miss Charlotte Talbot was the same "Charlotte" he mentioned before. The young lady, who was missing while her father did not seem to care, was someone very important to Skinner.

"I am surprised, however," the doctor's alter-ego remarked slowly, almost thoughtfully. "I never would have imagined that cheeky rogue would actually fall for a woman. He always flirts with anything that moves, even if he knows he'll suffer for it. Why else would he continue to fawn over Mina except to remain in practice?" There was a slight frown on the reflection's face that was shared by Henry. Neither one of them particularly liked watching Skinner flirt (or what he considered flirting) with her, but he did it in such a way that it was obvious he didn't want anything more than to make the occasional comment, rude touch, or other similar actions. The thief would never try to win the vampire's heart and, thus, Edward was willing to not treat him like competition that would have to be removed. "He sees every woman as a possibility, but never singles any out as more important than another. He's never demonstrated any particularly strong affection for any woman until you and Tom heard him whisper her name. It is like a cheap novel that a woman might read before heading out to 'walk the streets' in search of that evening's 'payment.'" Edward chuckled as Henry glared at his crudeness. "The thief and the baron's daughter? I wonder if she even knows that she's wandered into this intriguing love story or if our bold invisible man has become shy around her."

As Nemo's automobile arrived at the dock and the Nautilus surfaced at that precise moment in the same way that all of the captain's creations operated in perfect efficiency, Henry wondered about his other half's interest. He managed to be distracted from his undoubtedly unpleasant plans of how to deal with Lord Talbot by a mystery. Edward Hyde had been side-tracked from thought of violence and sin by curiosity. Did that mean his alter-ego could be satisfied with a hobby of some kind that didn't involve murder? The doctor decided to keep this in mind in the future.

As soon as the vehicle stopped, Skinner was out and heading straight towards the lowering ramp. He vanished into the interior of Nemo's vessel without looking back. He truly did not wish to speak to anyone, it seemed. Tom, however, quickly followed the gentleman thief with an expression that left little doubt that he intended to drag some real answers from his friend one way or another.

Nemo and Mina turned towards the doctor as they stepped out of the automobile. The captain looked curious while the lovely chemist appeared concerned. Both were scientists and were used to finding answers to problems, either by experimentation to uncover them or constructing devices to solve them. Neither of them seemed as if they were going to wait much longer for an explanation of some kind. And though he did not have the full story, they both seemed to recognize that he knew something about what was happening. With Tom and Skinner gone, he was the only source of information.

"Henry, what are you not telling us?" she asked.

Honestly, there were several things he wasn't telling her. He wasn't telling her about how he loved her since the day he met her. Not simply because of her outer beauty, but also because of her brilliant mind. And when he saw past her harder exterior to see her warmer heart, he only loved her more. He wasn't telling her that even Edward seemed to think she was special, in his own, twisted way. He wasn't telling her that even though he loved her, he would never reveal that fact because she deserved far better than what he could offer. But none of these things were what she was actually asking.

Sighing, Henry began to explain, "The day Lord Talbot's message reached us, Tom and I heard something very unusual coming from one of the storage rooms…"

* * *

Tom stayed far enough behind the invisible man so that he didn't immediately notice he was being followed. Actually, Skinner would have normally have noticed the young man's presence regardless, but he was still distracted by his thoughts. The American didn't know where he expected the thief to go, but Skinner was apparently heading for his room. That would make things easier.

Pausing outside the room momentarily, trying to prepare himself for the coming conversation with an angry thief about an uncomfortable topic, Tom slowly opened the door. He had seen the room before. It was similar to his own room, with an identical bed, desk, and chair. Each piece of furniture was another elegantly-carved piece of Nemo's that shouldn't suit a thief's personality, but it seemed to work for the eccentric individual. A couple containers of greasepaint were scattered across the desk, his leather coat was draped across the chair, and his hat was hanging on his bed post. Skinner never seemed to own many personal belongings, but the desk drawers tended to hold his newest stolen treasures. This could range from a bottle of scotch he'd taken from the Nautilus' reasonable collection of alcohol to one of Mina's crimson scarves to the rare object he "found" when they docked.

Currently, the thief was adding to the collection. Digging through the pockets of his borrowed suit, he was pulling out more valuable items than it should be possible to fit inside. How Skinner managed to sneak all of it into the suit without being noticed was a trick that would daunt the best stage magician. Not only did he see a small, golden figurine of a tiger with a small red gemstone in his mouth that Tom had spotted sitting next to a book of poetry by Robert Browning earlier, a painted decorative box that undoubtedly held further valuable trinkets, and a handful of porcelain pink roses that somehow survived the trip, he also seemed to have slid the sheets of piano music under his jacket without catching anyone's attention. As he pulled out one of the round, silver picture frames, likely one with a photograph of the young lady, Tom decided to make his presence known.

"Do you want to tell me about Charlotte?" he asked, startling the distracted thief slightly.

"She's Lord Talbot's daughter," Skinner shrugged. "What else is there to tell?"

"How about how you know her?" suggested the blond young man, pulling the door nearly closed behind him, walking into the room, and sitting on the edge of the bed. "You already knew about her before we set foot in that parlor today. Everyone could see that you hate her father, but don't hold any resentment towards her. You could explain how you're involved with that family. You could explain how in the world you learned to play the piano and why you said her name after you finished." He gestured at the sheet music currently sitting on the desk. Skinner, his emotions easy to judge since he'd yet to remove the greasepaint, stared at the American in shock at his knowledge of that event. Continuing, Tom asked, "Who is she, beyond his daughter? Is she a friend of yours or something more? Honestly, you haven't been the same since Lord Talbot became involved in our lives. And I don't need the only other person on this entire boat that has a sense of humor to lose it." The thief smiled weakly at his own words being used against him, but Tom wasn't finished. "You're driving everyone insane, trying to figure out what is going on with you. We don't know whether to leave you alone or to start planning the attack on the baron. But if you tell us which one you want, we'll do it. We're a team and you're our friend, but I really don't know what is going on until you give us some real answers. So, please, do you want to tell me about Charlotte?"

Skinner stood by the collection of stolen goods silently for a few minutes, his dark glasses-covered eyes seeming to stare straight at the American. At some point during the speech, they could feel the Nautilus submerging, likely due to Nemo's desire to minimize her presence to the London population. Finally, he sat the picture frame in Tom's hand and sat down in the chair. As the young man had predicted, the photograph the thief had stolen was of Charlotte by herself. He was quiet for a few more minutes before speaking cautiously.

"Well, who do you _think_ she is? How much has our clever American spy guessed?"

Tom, knowing he could easily be treading on a sensitive topic, quietly answered, "I think… you're in love with her."

There was a stunned silence before the invisible thief broke out into uproarious laughter. As nice as it was to have him in a good mood again, the blond young man wished that _he_ wasn't the source of the amusement. Something about his statement, one that Tom felt was fairly logical considering the behavior he'd witnessed, struck Skinner as absolutely hilarious. The American began to worry that he would fall off the chair while laughing. Slowly, the thief calmed down somewhat to a more reasonable level that he no longer seemed to be in danger of injuring himself, though he still chuckled a little.

"Tom, you don't know how much I needed that. I'm not _in_ love with Charlotte. But I guess you just need a few more clues to figure it out, right? Too many secrets among friends and you end up with wild guesses like that." He chuckled again. "Might as well start at the beginning and untangle this mess properly. It ain't like you're going to let me out of this one otherwise. You're too curious for your own good." Sighing, he shifted to a more serious tone, "Tom, what sort of mischief did you get up to when you were twelve?"

He grinned slightly at the memory, "Clearing an innocent man by naming the real murderer, finding a box of gold, and attending my own funeral. Among other things. I had a fairly interesting childhood."

"I could believe that. You seem to always find adventure somehow. When I was twelve, I went to jail, was betrayed by almost my entire family, and _missed_ my funeral. Among other things. I guess I had a fairly interesting childhood too." The greasepaint-covered thief frowned slightly, "The only one who didn't intentionally turn their back on me was her. She didn't know the truth, after all, so she _couldn't_ betray me."

Slowly, the American remarked, "Are you saying that…"

"Yes, Tom, I am. I'm not _in_ love with her, but I _do_ love Charlotte. She's my younger sister, even if I haven't seen her in years."

"Which means Lord Talbot is your…"

The invisible thief answered shortly, "Yes."

* * *

_**The small child, dodging her nurse's grasping arms, ran straight towards the older boy and practically leapt into his arms. He laughed at the girl's energy and enthusiasm. She was still young enough not to be overly concerned about what behavior is considered appropriate for someone of her station. Besides, she knew he wouldn't care about manners between them. Even with their difference in age, he always felt that the four year old girl understood him better than most and he shouldn't ruin that by enforcing pointless rules of society that he didn't particularly like to follow himself. There would always be plenty of people willing to do that for him.** _

" _ **Rodney, you're back," she squealed happily. "I missed you. Are you done now?"**_

_**Shifting her weight so he could hold her more easily, he grinned, "Yes, Ms. Kidd is finished with my lessons for today. I came in here, did I not? Besides, I was only gone a few hours, Lottie. You could not have missed me that much."** _

_**Miss Bennet, charged with the task of caring for the girl and ensuring that she grew to be a proper young lady, stepped forward and scolded, "Miss Charlotte, please get down. Running around the room like an unruly urchin and climbing on your brother is not proper behavior for a young lady."** _

" _ **But it**_ **is** _ **fun," remarked the boy, setting his sister down.**_

_**The black-haired woman narrowed her eyes slightly. He knew exactly what she was thinking. He could see the tiny cogs in her mind turning as she stared at him.** _

_**Technically, he wasn't her responsibility. That burden belonged to his governess, Ms. Kidd. On the other hand, his refusal to obey the social norms for someone who was the younger son of a baron and his general behavior firmly gained him the title of least favorite child and a walking potential political disaster. After he escaped his own nurse as a child, stumbled into one of his mother's visits, and called the Baroness of Lisgar "a squeaky-voiced giant" to her face, it was generally agreed that it would be in everyone's best interest to delay him going to a public school until he could be trusted not to ruin the family name. Instead, his governess would continue to teach him and anyone outside the household would be simply convinced he was a sickly child who spent most of his time in bed, gravely ill. His fake illness was so horrible that he couldn't even leave the house to attend church with the rest of the family. This way, he could be kept out of sight of the public until he became a proper young man like his older brother, Victor.** _

_**Miss Bennet, however, had her doubts that he would ever change. No amount of punishment, in any form or from any source, seemed to discourage him. She was almost certain that he would never be a proper young lord, even if he lived to be a hundred. Honestly, he thought she was right since he had no intention of acting like the rest of them.** _

_**Perhaps Lord Talbot was beginning to suspect that as well. He had recently ordered that his daughter's interactions with "the rebellious boy" be limited. Victor, already in his teenage years and set in his ways as an upstanding future member of society, had little to do with his younger siblings anyway and would not be easily affected by the boy's behavior. Miss Charlotte, soon to be shifting from a nanny to a governess herself, was at a very impressionable age, however. Both Ms. Bennet and the boy knew about these instructions, but that did not stop the youth from disobeying them anyway.** _

" _ **Master Rodney, you know your father left clear orders for you not to be bothering your sister," she reminded, trying to subtly hint that she should leave.**_

_**Naturally, he ignored the hint and grinned, "I'm not bothering her. Am I, Lottie?"** _

_**The coppery-haired child giggled and shook her head, "He promised to play the piano."** _

" _ **And you would not want to have me break a promise, would you?" he asked, taking his sister's hand and leading her out the room. "Relax. It is our first day back in London. There is no reason to always be strict."**_

_**He never understood why she thought him being able to play the piano was so fascinating since he knew his mother could play the instrument, as could Ms. Kidd. But the girl always acted like the fact that her brother could produce music was the most awe-inspiring act ever performed by man. Maybe it was because he would let tap on the keys while he played (an act no other family member would allow the young child to perform since the piano was valuable) or listened to her stories she made up about the songs. Regardless, she loved listening to him play and would always pick the same song.** _

" _ **Play the good one, Rodney," she begged, tugging his arm as he set her on the bench beside him.**_

" _ **Lottie, it has a name," he teased. "It's 'Brahms's Sonata No. 3 in F minor Op. 5,' remember? It has five parts, but your favorite is the second movement."**_

_**She frowned and grumbled, "But the name is too** _ **long** _**. I can't remember it all."** _

" _ **You need to so you can ask Ms. Kidd to teach you how to play it when you are older," he reminded as the first notes of the second movement began to trickle out.**_

_**They remained silent for a few minutes, the pair of siblings listening to the music now floating through the room without speaking. It was pleasant and even soothing. After having her ask for the same song so often, the youth had most of the music memorized. The only variation to the familiar tune was when Charlotte's small finger tapped a random key with a faint giggle.** _

" _ **She misses him," the child commented suddenly.**_

" _ **Hm?" he responded, continuing to play even with the interruption.**_

" _ **The song. It's about a brother and sister," she clarified. "He went on a trip far away and she misses him. But they still think about each other and they'll see each other again."**_

" _ **I thought you said last time it was about a couple of butterflies," reminded the older boy.**_

_**She shook her head, her murky blue eyes dancing with enjoyment, "No, it's about a brother and sister. I think he's in Africa. Or maybe Asia. Somewhere with elephants and jungles. He has lots of adventures."** _

" _ **It sounds like fun," he smiled at her imagination.**_

" _ **It is, but he misses her too."**_

" _ **Rodney, what are you doing here?" a deeper, unexpected voice interrupted.**_

_**Breaking off suddenly from the song, the pair of siblings spun around on the piano bench at the man's words. They quickly stood up and gave him a look of respect. The man, his dark brown hair now mixed with white ones, was staring down at his offspring with a frown.** _

" _ **Charlotte, go to your room. I am certain Miss Bennet will help you with your dollhouse if you like," he instructed.**_

" _ **Yes, sir," she curtsied, knowing even in her young age that her father required absolute obedience and perfect manners from all his children.**_

_**After she left the room, Rodney and his father stared each other down. The boy knew what the man saw. He saw a disappointment. The chestnut-haired youth, who looked more like his mother before her hair changed to grey in the same manner that Victor resembled their father, did not act like a proper game piece. A younger son might have less potential than an heir, but the baron undoubtedly wanted to use the boy to advance the family somehow. He could be a politician, join the military, or even become part of the church. He would have even settled for a prosperous marriage to a girl with connections and a large dowry. But the child's actions and personality prevented the youth from being easily manipulated into the correct role. He was certain that the man would prefer to remove the unpredictable boy from the family rather than risk his reputation by allowing Rodney to interact with anyone of importance, but he couldn't disinherit the youth without running a similar risk of scandal. Thus, the baron treated his younger son as if he was invisible unless he was forced to deal with him due to his continued disobedience and willful behavior.** _

" _ **I am certain I ordered you to stay away from your sister," remarked Lord Talbot.**_

" _ **You did, sir," he answered, staring at him stubbornly.**_

" _ **I see…," the man nodded. He glared down as Rodney silently wished that trim-mustached frown would go away. He already**_ **knew** _ **his father did not like him. He**_ **knew** _ **his older brother, the perfect Victor and future inheritor of the property and title, was preferred by his parent.**_ _**He did not need to be reminded every time the baron glanced at him. "You still cannot follow a simple direction without causing trouble. Even if you insist on being a rebellious, rude child that does not care about your responsibilities as a member of the Talbot family, I refuse to allow you to corrupt your sister with that same attitude. You will not do that to this family. You already have made it impossible to send you to Eton with your behavior. You need to begin acting appropriately for someone of your standing to stop being an embarrassment to your family, and to prove your worthiness to be called my son. Until that time, you shall not speak to Charlotte without the presence of either Miss Bennet or myself."**_

" _ **Wait, I am not allowed to even speak to my own sister without a chaperone?"**_ _**interrupted the boy.**_

" _ **Not until," the man stated, his anger only increasing at the disrespectful tone, "I know you deserve that right. I am certain you are not such an expert at your lessons that you cannot use extra studies."**_

" _ **Yes, sir," he nodded tensely, recognizing a dismissal when he heard one and didn't particularly want to remain in his father's presence for much longer in case he found another fault with him.**_

* * *

"So he's already been that pleasant," muttered Tom, amazed that it was possible to dislike Lord Talbot more than he already did.

"Pretty much," Skinner answered, standing up.

The thief walked over to the desk, reached for a drawer, and pulled out a nearly full bottle of scotch. Glancing at it for a moment, he set the bottle on the desk and opened the door to the hallway the rest of the way.

"I thought listening at keyholes was _my_ job," he commented, smiling at the League members in the hall. Henry and Mina at least had the decency to look embarrassed. Tom didn't know if it was even possible for Nemo look self-conscious; he simply seemed calm and curious. "Come on in. Might as well have the whole gang here for story time. Thirsty?" He picked up the bottle again, offered it, and took a drink straight from the container when the others shook their heads. He waited as the trio began to situate themselves around the room before speaking again. "So, we all caught up? Charlotte ain't my sweetheart, Talbot never acted nice a day in his life, and my charming self is still available if you like, Mina."

"I'll keep that in mind," she answered dryly, accepting the chair Henry offered while the doctor sat on the bed next to Tom.

"You know you can't resist my dashing good looks and fun personality," smirked the invisible man, enjoying the banter far more than his previous topic. "It ain't too late to accept my offer."

"I'm not certain I could stand all the competition for your affections," the vampire remarked, having decided to go along with the flirting for the moment instead of going straight to a death threat.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. You know you're the only skirt for me," he sighed dramatically. With a hint of mischief, Skinner suggested, "Perhaps someone already stole your heart from right under my nose."

Henry, looking uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken, tried to steer them back to the original topic, "So how did you go from 'Master Rodney Talbot,'" the greasepaint-covered man frowned slightly at the name, "to 'Rodney Skinner, Gentleman Thief'?"

"How else? By looking for trouble and finding it."

* * *

" _ **Did you finish reading that book yet, Master Rodney?" the blond young woman asked.**_

" _ **Yes, though that Plato person was even worse than that book on poetry," the youth answered, handing it back to his governess. "I am fairly certain that**_ **he** _ **did not even know what he was talking about**_ _**half the time."**_

" _ **I'm sorry. I just know you're supposed to be reading texts that are considered 'cultured,' but none of them seem to be very entertaining," she explained.**_

_**He couldn't help feeling a little sorry for her. She was hired to care for him, and Victor before him, and to teach the boys until they were ready for public school. She knew enough to teach them what they would need for Eton, but she had not expected the burden of the more advanced lessons Rodney was supposed to be learning now. Even though she came from a middle class family, she had not received as complete an education as her brothers and it left her qualified enough for a regular governess position, but not the one she now held. Not wanting to risk Ms. Kidd losing her job, they both pretended she knew exactly what she was supposed to be teaching the "sickly and bed-ridden boy" and raided the library for lesson ideas. In addition to the extremely varied academic topics she selected, reading ahead the night before so she would be able to teach him in turn, she also taught him to play the piano after he demonstrated a talent for it. She returned the favor of his concealment about her lack of qualifications (for a task she had never expected to perform) by allowing him more free time than most governess would. In a way, it was like an odd friendship and he enjoyed the fact she treated him like a person worth trusting instead of an irresponsible child.** _

_**Trying to interest him in the new book, she described, "I think you might enjoy this one more. It is about several different inventors. There is even a chapter about the telegram and it has signals for Morse code listed if you're interested in it."** _

* * *

"So that is how you were able to contact the Nautilus when we were separated," remarked Mina. "You know Morse code because you read about it."

"Sorry it ain't exciting enough. Not like I was a secret spy for Her Majesty's government or something else interesting," Skinner muttered. "Can I continue?"

* * *

_**Taking the book, he snuck down towards the kitchen. Isolated in the household to the point where he never saw anyone that wasn't a direct family member or a servant, he had learned all the secrets of the inhabitants. As the resident unseen son, ignored and hidden away, he had perfected the art of sneaking around. He knew Mr. Carter, the First Footman, stole the silverware occasionally and sold it to cover his gambling debts he somehow managed to accumulate on his days off. Miss Bennet, who was only a few years older than Rodney, was seeing Mr. Carter romantically, but didn't know about his gambling. Mrs. Hopkins, the kindly housekeeper who would happily cover any other duty from preparing afternoon tea to helping his mother get ready in the morning on the days the normal girl was ill, would quietly make small gestures and efforts that she hoped would soften Lord Talbot's sharp-edged behavior towards his less-important guests. And he knew Mrs. Black, the extremely talented cook who was able to live separately with her family and still retain her job because of her incredible recipes that awed all dinner guests and still managed to arrive early for the day's duties when the Talbot family was within the city, would sometimes sneak her son in to the kitchen. She wasn't supposed to, but it was the only way to ensure he had food every day after his father died and the other servants who worked in the kitchen were willing to help his presence secret. Until she could find a new job to supplement her income, she had to sneak a few of his meals from the Talbot's pantry in order to provide for him.** _

_**The boy, Simon, was near Rodney's age and the young aristocrat had started talking to him (after assuring him that he would never let Lord Talbot know about him). It had taken some time to get past the whole "son of a baron" situation so he wasn't intimidated by his family tree to the point where Simon was struggling to have a full conversation. Because of Ms. Kidd's unusual and sporadic lesson plans, Rodney had managed to gain plenty of free time and was using it to make a friend who wasn't a servant who was paid to spend time with him or his little sister. He had needed the presence of a new possible friend more than ever once his father started truly reinforcing his order not to see Charlotte. His efforts had eventually been rewarded as Simon started speaking to him like he was just another boy instead of someone in a relative position of power.** _

_**Rodney wanted, more than anything, a little more freedom in his life where he could actually be around other people. And, after talking about it for a while, they had an idea. It was a risky, foolish in every sense of the word, and they would both suffer greatly if someone figured it out, but that was exactly why the pair of boys** _ **had** _**to do it.** _

" _ **Simon, did you bring them?" he asked, pulling him away from listening ears.**_

" _ **Yes, though you gave me a six-pence too much," answered the dark-haired boy, handing over the purchased second-hand clothes.**_

" _ **Keep it," smiled Rodney. "I would not be able to sneak it back to where my father keeps the money anyway."**_

" _ **Thanks, but…"**_

" _ **What?" asked the chestnut-haired boy.**_

" _ **You might be able to dress normal, but you ain't going to fool no one if you talk like some posh dandy," explained Simon. "If you open your mouth, everyone'll know you ain't right. You got to talk like a real person, not some rich swell."**_

" _ **A what?"**_

_**The boy, familiar enough now with Rodney to know the young aristocrat wanted to be treated the same as anyone, rolled his eyes, "A** _ **swell** _**. A toff. A gentleman dressed in his finest and stiff as a board. If you don't talk like me or another regular chap, you'll ruin it."** _

_**Taking a deep breath, Rodney adopted the accent he'd been practicing since the idea first emerged and answered, "Well, I ain't going to let a little think like that stop me."** _

_**Simon whistled softly, "Not bad. Sound like a boy from the East Side instead of a swell now. All you got to do now is pick a new name. Can't be 'Master Rodney Talbot' while running around with us, now can you? You got to call yourself something more common. Like 'Carpenter,' 'Smith,' 'Skinner,' or 'Cratchit.' I got an Uncle Robert Cratchit. Maybe you could be my cousin."** _

" _ **Actually, I think I like 'Skinner,'" he commented, still employing his new accent so it would become more natural sounding. "What do you think of 'Rodney Skinner'? Sound good?"**_

_**He nodded, "No one'll ever guess."** _

* * *

Skinner took another drink from the scotch bottle, "So me and Simon began sneaking out of the house, pretending I was a cousin of his. Not every day, but fairly often. I got to be myself and run around with all of his friends. No one got mad at me when I told Jasper that his hat made him look like a mushroom. Everyone thought it was true and he even laughed about it. They didn't think it was 'disrespectful and disappointing.' All that proper manners garbage didn't matter to them and they _liked_ hearing the blunt truth instead of a polite lie that all those high-born people want. It was fun."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out another stolen object, this time a silver spoon he must have picked up off the tea tray as he left the parlor. Once more, Tom had to wonder how Skinner managed to take all of these valuable articles from a room without anyone noticing, even those who know he is a thief. He just seemed to slip them out of sight and fit them into pockets that shouldn't be able to contain so many objects.

He set it down with the other items and continued, "Several of the boys, including Simon sometimes, stole. Mostly it was an apple or something to else to eat, but a couple of the older boys would climb on roofs to steal the roof lead to sell for money. Or they might snatch a scarf or other small object and take off running through the streets to escape with their prize. Didn't take long before I decided to try. I didn't need the money since I would sneak back home, wash away the soot and mud, and go back to being 'Master Rodney' in the evening, but I liked the idea of a challenge." He grinned faintly. "Never expected to be so good at it. Most of the boys didn't bother to be stealthy about it. They just grabbed whatever it was and ran, hoping that their size and speed as they weaved through the crowds would be enough. I didn't. I waited until everything was perfect before I struck. Most times, no one even realized they'd been relieved of their treasure until much later. Everyone said I was a natural." He chuckled slightly, "A _real_ 'gentleman thief.' Didn't take long to move up to pick pocketing. Stealing was as easy as breathing and far more fun. Of course, I gave everything I took to Simon when the others weren't looking. To thank him for helping. He needed it more than I did, after all." His gloved hands rolled the bottle in his grip, "I had wanted an escape from being the family failure hidden away from the world, but I never realized how much I'd been missing until I got out of there. It didn't take long before 'Master Rodney' was more of the disguise and 'Skinner' felt like the real me. I wasn't allowed to see my sister, Victor was a stand-offish half-wit who was an exact copy of our father, and my parents lied to everyone to convince them I was too sickly leave my bed so that I wouldn't ruin the family name. No surprise I wanted a little freedom."

The invisible thief, leaning against his desk slightly, glanced at the bottle in his hand again. Tom wondered if his friend was trying to get drunk because that was the only way he would be able to share the entire event or if he just wanted to get drunk anyway.

Skinner, apparently deciding to wait for the next drink, continued, "Of course, someone was bound to notice me vanishing every couple of days. At least one person cared enough about me and wasn't forbidden to see me."

* * *

" _ **Master Skinner, you're not supposed to be sneaking out like that," Ms. Kidd scolded quietly, dragging the still-disguised youth quickly to his room before anyone else could spy the young aristocrat. "I don't know what you were doing or where you found those clothes, but if your father learns of this…"**_

" _ **He**_ **won't** _ **," he assured,**_ _**trying to switch back into his old speech pattern quickly. The 'fake' accent was actually growing too easy to use and now he had to concentrate on making certain it didn't creep into his words at home. "He never found out that you can't teach at the level of public school, right? And I just want to have some fun."**_

" _ **What have you been doing?" she asked, setting the boy on the edge of the bed and began to clean the smudges off his face.**_

" _ **I've just been running around with Simon and the others," he muttered, clenching his eyes shut against the cloth being rubbed across his cheeks and nose.**_

_**When the wiping paused, he opened them to see her expression soften slightly, "They don't know who you are, do they? You dress like this," she indicated his grubby outfit, "and pretend to be a boy from a lower class family so you can spend time with children your own age. I know that keeping you cooped up like this is wrong. You should have gone to Eton two years ago, where you would be making friends. But your father… well, he thinks he knows best."** _

" _ **He**_ **doesn't** _ **. He doesn't care what I think or want. So why should I care what**_ **he** _ **thinks?"**_

" _ **Because he's your father, Master Rodney. I'm certain he does what he does because he loves you, in his own way." She frowned, "I**_ **should** _ **tell him, but I won't. I know that the more you try to forbid and inhibit someone, the more they will fight against those restraints." Ms. Kidd gave him a gentle smile, "You're a good boy and far cleverer than most people would guess, but I don't want you to make a mistake you'll regret.**_ _**If you continue to sneak out to see your friends, I'll make excuses for your absence as long as you keep up on your reading. Just remember that you're not the only one who will suffer Lord Talbot's wrath if this is brought to his attention."**_

" _ **Thank you, Ms. Kidd," he mumbled, trying not to think about what his governess was risking by keeping his secret.**_

" _ **And just**_ **consider** _ **trying to act as your father wants you to. He would let you go to Eton with other boys, you'd be able to see Charlotte again, and your life would be easier. Please at least consider it?" she requested.**_

_**She wasn't asking him to change because she didn't like who he was. It wasn't because she thought he was a disappointment, an embarrassment, or a threat to the family name. Ms. Kidd didn't think that his habit of speaking whatever was on his mind or thinking of witty responses to people (most of which he managed to resist saying aloud to prevent another speech from his father) was such a horrible crime that everyone else seemed to think. She wasn't asking him to change because there was something wrong with him. She was asking because she only wanted the best for him. She was willing to risk everything by lying for him, but she knew it could not last forever and wanted him to have a more permanent solution for his isolation. If it was anyone else in the world who had asked, he would refuse out of stubbornness and possibly even respond with a snide comment. But Ms. Kidd wasn't like every other adult in his life. She cared about what he thought and felt, not just what was best for the reputation of the family.** _

_**Slowly, he nodded, "Let me go one more week. After that, I will stay inside and work on trying to behave. I cannot make any promises, but I will** _ **try** _**."** _

" _ **Thank you," she smiled. "How about you change out of these clothes and we go downstairs? I know you can't see Charlotte, but she misses you. And I know for a fact that you can hear the piano from her room. I think she would like that."**_

* * *

"Should have been that simple," commented Skinner, staring intently at the bottle through his dark glasses. He still had a little less than half the bottle left, but seemed too tangled up in reliving the past to notice the alcohol, his audience, or even his surroundings any longer. "Sneak out for the last time, come home, and spend the rest of my life playing the part of 'useful extra son' by getting sent off to Eton, marrying a girl my parents picked out, maybe become a politician, and never have a thought of my own again. Maybe even have my narrow-minded, judgmental, arrogant father stop glaring at me like my existence is an insult. You know, the kind of life everyone dreams of. I was _really_ looking forward to acting as snobby and proper as my brother Victor, but Ms. Kidd was right that I couldn't keep up the two identities forever."

Henry nodded knowingly, "Eventually someone will realize you're the same person."

The invisible thief glanced over, surprised at the interjection, but nodded, "Or something happens that makes it all crash down on top of you like an exploding fortress in Mongolia."

"What happened?" asked Nemo, intrigued by Skinner's unusual tale.

He chuckled slightly, "I was _arrested_. I don't even remember what I filched, but it was enough to get me caught. Everyone else managed to scatter. Except me. I was being charged with 'simple larceny.' Probably would have stuck me in one of those Reformatory schools for the criminal children they think just need education and patience for a few years to lead them from their sinful ways. Only I might have called the copper who grabbed me a couple of unflattering names, all of which were accurate, and might have suggested a few unpleasant activities he look like he'd been busy with, which were less accurate. My behavior might have bothered them a little. Luckily, they tended to go easier on first-time offenders. They asked for my name for their records." He frowned, "If I'd gave him the name 'Talbot,' they wouldn't be able to keep me. All the tilted people have their own court systems and they'd hardly charge a boy for such a minor offense. But I'd be dragged in front of my father, who'd be told exactly what I'd been up to and would have to face the fact everyone would know it too. Regardless of what he might say or think, I _didn't_ want to ruin the reputation of my family. If I make a mistake, _I'm_ the one who should suffer. Not Charlotte, not that stand-offish Victor, not my weak-willed mother, and not even my arrogant father _. Me._ I told them my name was 'Skinner' and was tossed in prison for a month."

While he'd managed to keep fairly calm during his description as events so far, even when he spoke about Lord Talbot, his grip on the bottle was tightening.

He finally took another drink of scotch and continued, "Simon, after I was caught, ran back to my house in a panic apparently. Told his mother what happened. Both freaked out for a while since they knew how bad it was. Finally, they told Ms. Kidd and she told Lord Talbot. I learned all of this later since I was in a cell at the time. You see, I _knew_ Simon would have to tell him eventually where I was. I guess part of me thought he'd show up, bribe a few guards, and take me home. You know, actually _help_ his son. Not bloody likely. He sacked Mrs. Black, because her son caused the problem, and Ms. Kidd, because she was supposed to be in charge of me. Next, he took advantage of the unique situation to get rid of his greatest disappointment permanently. While I worked at pointless tasks in prison as punishment, my family had a funeral for their 'poor son who finally succumbed to his 'illness.' It apparently had just enough pomp and circumstance to be considered proper for the son of a baron, but was no larger than necessary. Instead of bribing to free me, he bribed a clergyman to perform services for an empty casket. No one realized they didn't see the body. They had the whole mourning clothes, funeral progression, and even a tomb stone. All very tragic and heart-breaking. I'm certain all those important aristocrats were expressing some fake sympathy for my fake grieving parents, telling them how they know I was a wonderful child and such garbage. I didn't get to see it or find out anything about until much later because I was locked up tight."

After he didn't speak for a few minutes, Tom quietly prompted, "So once you got out, you just never went home?"

The thief took another drink and set the bottle on the desk, the container clanging slightly with the force behind it. He didn't quite slam it down, but it was placed on the surface harder than necessary. While not near the verbal explosion he'd demonstrated at Lord Talbot's home, it was clear that he was not enjoying his current memories.

"I wish that I had. Might have been easier."

* * *

_**It hadn't been pleasant. It hadn't been an experience he would ever want to repeat, but it was over now. He was out of prison with only new calluses across his hands and stronger arms from manual labor to prove his stay. After a month of bland meals, picking apart rope, and turning that impossible turn crank, he couldn't wait to get out. He was just glad his sentence hadn't been longer. The social season was ending, Victor was back from Eton for break by now, and the family would be returning to the estate within a couple of days.** _

_**He didn't use the front door. He was still dressed in his less than fashionable prison outfit. It would be better to go around back and enter that way. He knew his father would be furious with him and he'd undoubtedly be subjected to an impressively hostile rant about his behavior. Likely, Lord Talbot had left him imprisoned to teach him a lesson. He would accept the rant and whatever new restrictions his father would have devised as punishment. Rodney knew when he started sneaking out that there would be consequences. Now, he just wanted to go home.** _

_**Slipping over the garden wall, he crept to the kitchen door. The chestnut-haired youth gently tapped on the door, not wanting to just sneak in and give poor Ms. Kidd a heart attack. It took a few moments, but finally someone opened the door.** _

_**Mrs. Hopkins, the sweet woman he'd known for years and who used to sneak him a treat from the kitchen when he was small, stared at him as if he was a stranger. Her confused expression suddenly shifted to stunned realization and the boy found himself enveloped in a tight hug. For a few painful seconds, he couldn't see or breathe. He could, however, hear her tearful utterances.** _

" _ **Oh, Master Rodney. I was so upset to hear what happened to you. Locked up like a common criminal with who knows what kind of monsters. I couldn't bear it. And then Lord Talbot…." She let go suddenly, giving the youth a much needed breather. "I have to tell him you're here. I'm so sorry, Master Rodney, but can you wait here?"**_

" _ **Sure," he nodded, struggling to remember his old speech pattern. Between the enforced near silence of prison and his great care that anytime he did speak, it was in the style of an ordinary person from the East End of London instead of a young aristocrat, he was out of practice speaking like Lord Talbot's son. "I can wait."**_

 _ **She gave him one last weak smile before vanishing into the household. It was probably just a precaution for him to wait outside so that his father could yell at him without disturbing the entire household. There was absolutely no reason for Rodney to be experiencing this gnawing sense of dread. He was home, his family was just inside, and he could handle the coming punishment and even make himself beg for forgiveness.**_ _**A little groveling to his father was not too much to perform considering how much trouble he was in with his actions. Besides, once he got past that minor humiliation, things would be back to normal. Everything would be fine in the end.**_

_**He expected his father to come out alone, but Victor was following like a perfect copy of the man. At sixteen, the dark-haired young man already looked at least eighteen and seemed to have the perpetual expression that he was addressing something disgusting he had stepped in instead of addressing a person. Both were dressed solemnly without a true trace of color anywhere. It was subtle since they normally wore dark suits, but Rodney could see that they had on black gloves instead of white ones and other tiny details. Now that he thought about it, Mrs. Hopkins (who had followed them back, but was now in the corner staring at the ground sadly) had been dressed in shades of black as well. That feeling of dread did not ease.** _

" _ **We do not hand out scraps to beggars," Lord Talbot stated firmly. "I suggest you leave."**_

_**Out of all the possible reactions he'd expected to receive upon returning home, that wasn't one of them. Even dressed like this, his father should recognize him. And Mrs. Hopkins must have informed him that his son was home.** _

_**Hoping it was some type of joke, regardless of the fact neither his father nor brother were known for their senses of humor, Rodney gave a nervous chuckle, "I didn't know how good the disguise was, sir. I probably should get upstairs and get cleaned up. Not to mention let Ms. Kidd know I'm all right."** _

" _ **Ms. Kidd is no longer employed here nor is Mrs. Black. I had fired them this month with no references," he told the youth. "They have been proven untrustworthy. Their carelessness led to the corruption of a child and the near destruction of the Talbot family name. It is only luck that has kept our reputation preserved. Now, you need to leave. This family is in mourning and does not need the likes of you slinking around."**_

_**There was so much in that statement that did not make sense, all he could manage was a quiet, "What?"** _

" _ **My younger son, Rodney, is dead," Lord Talbot stated without a hint of remorse or guilt for his words. "His funeral was weeks ago. He simply failed to remain among his living relatives, corrupted by the diseased filth that infects this city like the worst type of vermin. In some ways, it was his own undoing. He was such a sickly child that should have been inside, out of sight and safe from causing harm. Instead, he was the most irresponsible and traitorous spawn that disobeyed his own parents' wishes and ran about like common gutter trash. He was practically a criminal near the end." His cold expression as he delivered these words and the way Victor simply nodded in agreement with his father's description made it even harder to listen. "It is only fortunate he received his final fate before he spread this polluting taint to the entire family. Now, with his death publicly known and his existence over, he will never be a threat again."**_

" _ **But I'm**_ **not** _ **dead," the boy reminded, desperately trying to ignore the implications of the man's words. "I'm your son, Rodney Tal…"**_

" _ **No, you do not have the right to bear that name. You are not a member of this family and you cannot claim the name 'Talbot' as your own. You are not worthy of such a thing."**_

" _ **You're disinheriting me?"**_

_**Victor answered, "No, disinheriting a family member is a very public and embarrassing procedure. Everyone would know that some great offense must have been committed, even if they don't know the details. Father would not risk such a thing unless absolutely necessary. Fortunately, that action has been avoided. You cannot disinherit the dead."** _

" _ **You are not connected to this household in any manner," Lord Talbot declared, staring down at the confused and hurt boy. "You are not a gentleman, a loyal servant with years of dedicated service, or anything else of even mild importance. You are no better than filth and slime that coats the lowliest beggar. You are just another criminal scrambling in the dark alleys and stealing from honest members of society. You are nothing, absolutely nothing. You are less than nothing; you are gutter trash." The man shifted his gaze so that it wasn't even on the boy anymore, as if looking at him was a waste of time. "Now, you will get away from my home before I contact the police to have them arrest you for vagrancy. Crawl back to whatever damp hole you can find, think about your wretched and vile existence, and die among the rest of the garbage where you belong."**_

_**The true extent of his fate was beginning to dawn on the chestnut-haired youth. Everything was gone. His entire life had been stolen right from under him. He had wanted a little more freedom and maybe, deep down, his father to like him for himself. Instead, he was being banished from his family and home.** _

" _ **Can… I say good-bye at least?" he asked quietly. "To Mother and Charlotte?"**_

" _ **My wife will not be disturbed just to see some common criminal," the man stated firmly. And because he had made a decision, Lady Talbot would not disagree. She'd always gone along with whatever her husband decided without argument or complaint. "And my daughter does not need to be confused. Her brother's death has been hard on her."**_

" _ **Wait, you actually told her I'm dead?" the boy responded, stunned by the man's actions towards the four year old. He'd lost control of his accent in surprise and was speaking like someone of the lower class. "You lied to her? Well, ain't that a tad cruel. Bad enough you're tossing me out, but now you're keeping important secrets from your child."**_

" _ **I told her that her brother is dead. That is not a lie," he answered, his expression hard. "This is your final warning. Leave now or else, boy."**_

_**The youth stared at the man who'd been a cold and uncaring figure in his life who was now casting him aside. As a father, even one that he'd never felt connected to and could only deliver words of scolding, the boy had seen him as an important person. Even at his most rebellious, he knew that Lord Talbot was in charge of the enclosed world the household existed in and thus deserved respect. Now, no longer a part of that family, he couldn't see anything worthy of respect. Lord Talbot had nothing to offer: not loyalty, honesty, understanding, forgiveness, strength, skill, common sense, determination, wisdom, courage, trust, or familial love. All he had was a title and money. A title, in the end, was just a word. It was nothing but another name for rich people to use. And he didn't even gain the money through any action of his own. He inherited it. Stealing was more work and was closer to an honest day's labor than how Lord Talbot gained his wealth. There was nothing to respect him for and there never was.** _

" _ **Fine, I'll go," the boy snapped. "But I won't die in some gutter. I'll live just to spite you. I don't need you. Anything I need, I'll get it on my own. And I wouldn't want your name anyway. Who'd want to share a name with a fat, old man like you?"**_

_**The youth spun around and dashed for the garden wall while he was still able to have the last word. It was true. Rodney Talbot, the younger son and family failure, was gone. Rodney Skinner, the thief who would take care of himself, was all that was left. And he was going to steal London blind.** _

* * *

"And that was it," concluded Skinner. "Of course, stealing for fun and stealing to survive are two different things. Didn't have a roof over my head or anything except the clothes on my back. Could have starved or gotten killed by a stranger in an alley for my shoes, but I managed to filch enough to eat and kept out of sight. Worked a little harder, ended up with enough coin to get a tiny room in the cheapest building I could find. Time goes on, I got better. Made some of the older palmers and toolers jealous; couple wanted me to work with them. They wanted to split the money, but I didn't. By then, I was able to make a profit and enjoy stealing again without worrying about my next meal. Kept out of jail, gained a reputation among some of the thieves, and started working the tougher marks. Years later, I end up here with our motley gang of misfits and missing a reflection. Didn't hear a peep about Lord Talbot or Charlotte until he sent his request." Taking a final sip from the bottle, he put the stopper back on and slid it back into a drawer. "And next time, Tom can tell a story. He seemed to have been stirring up trouble since he could walk."

No one spoke for a few minutes. Slowly, Nemo drew out the folded sheet of paper the baron had given him.

"The coordinates provided is a for a location in Kenya that is close enough to the diamond mine in South Africa for the gem to be transported within a short time period, but far enough that Mr. Ashmore would be separated from his men," the captain described. "I have already set the course. We shall be docking in a few days. The currents will be working against us as we near the southern tip of the continent and travel up the east coast, but we shall reach the location swiftly."

"And we'll find your sister," Tom promised for the second time that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished this chapter. I hope I surprised a few people with events. And, if anyone wants to gather torches and pitchforks to hunt down Lord Talbot, be my guest. By the time I finished this chapter, I wanted to murder him.
> 
> Okay, more educational stuff. This time, it mostly covers the upper class and their servants. I'll try to keep it semi-brief.
> 
> Children of the upper class are raised by a nurse until they are five years old. A governess will take care of and teach boys until they are ten and girls through their teenage years. The boys would then go to a public school (which were more like a boarding school for the rich and important) for most of the year until they are ready for the University, to begin taking on the responsibilities as an heir, go into the military, etc. During their younger years, the children would see very little of their parents in comparison to today. Girls would see more of their mother in their teenage years, but they are still mostly raised by other people. The heir to the family name would inherit nearly everything (and be destined to run the property someday), while younger sons would gain practically nothing in comparison. No titles, little property, etc. They could either join the military, become a politician, join a church, or something similar. Girls have their dowry and almost nothing else. They would be married off. Thus, the eldest son was considered the most important child in the family and was raised with that in mind. And while it is possible to disinherit any of the children, the heir is least likely to receive this treatment. But disinheriting was not a common practice at all since they would have to give a good reason to do that (which would mean sharing this potentially humiliating info with others). More likely they'd simply be given a certain amount of money and sent to travel the world out of sight once they were old enough.
> 
> Most servants were not allowed to be married or to have "relations" with someone of the opposite gender and could be fired if they were (though there were exceptions to every rule). Governesses tended to be unmarried daughters of high middle class or even upper class families that were forced, for some reason, to go to work. Most of the servants lived within the household, either in the attic or an area called "the servant's hall."
> 
> Victorian funerals were fairly elaborate and expensive, though the extent could vary depending on income, social importance, and age. Mourning could last for years in varying degrees of depressing. Mourning for a spouse, parent, or child would last twelve months, six months for a brother or sister, and a full two years for a husband. Men only had to go into mourning for their wives for three months (how ironic…). And the mourning clothes were far more elaborate for women than men.
> 
> The Cockney accent is, by definition, a speech pattern belonging to people who live "within earshot of the Bow Bells," which are bells within the church of St. Mary-le-Bow (approximately six miles east, five north, four west, and three south). This includes the East End among other nearby areas.
> 
> And yes, the ocean currents would be with the Nautilus as they move down the west coast of Africa, but they would be going against the currents once they a south enough point, as they move around the tip and start moving up the east coast. I checked the paths of major ocean currents so I could plot the Nautilus' course.
> 
> I worked hard to make this fit within the possible rules and traditions of the era. I developed this entire concept based on one question I had while watching the movie: how in the world did Skinner know Morse code? That is not exactly common knowledge among the thieving community. To answer that in a semi-logical fashion, I came up with this possible scenario. It truly brings a whole new meaning to the phrase "Gentleman Thief."


	5. Gifts and Curses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kenya, technically, was referred to as the British East Africa or the East African Protectorate from the 1880s to 1920. In the movie, however, they use the subtitle of "Kenya" and thus I will continue to use that term. And Kenya has more than just a savanna. It is tropical near the coast, a savanna more inland, and further west there are highlands and mountains.

The sun beat down on the golden savanna, a steady and unrelenting force that threatened to overcome any man not used to the unforgiving temperatures. The small collection of buildings, barely more than a small town in population and yet architecturally different than the traditional villages of the region, looked almost like a mirage caused by the wavering heat rising from the ground to anyone foolish enough to be traveling at this time of day. That illusion was quickly destroyed as he neared the British-style building and stepped into the newly rebuilt gentlemen's club. The last one had been destroyed in an unexpected fashion and a great deal of the more impressive trophies of the resident hunters had been lost. Still, the new building had been constructed to replace the original one as closely as possible. The biggest difference was the arrangement of the main room to offer more cover in case of another shootout.

The young man, one who would not normally have been allowed inside the place of quality if he had not spoken the proper name, quietly entered the mildly cooler interior. He was not the rich son of an important family on a thrilling adventure in the wilds of Africa, looking for further enjoyment beyond hunting the big game. The story-seekers had faded away when news of the great Allan Quatermain's demise. This young man lived in another village, one with fewer British influences and closer to their native roots while retaining relatively good relations with the people of his current location. One particular individual strongly supported the well-treatment of these people, and he had enough influence to ensure it. And even if someone chose not to listen to him, recent events had convinced the entire area to be careful in their treatment of the native people.

The young man glanced at the individual behind the bar. Even after the building's first destruction, the level-headed and calm Bruce had returned. Seeing the visitor's inquiring look, he jerked his head slightly in the direction of a pair of armchairs in the back. One was empty and the other held the person he was seeking.

When the young man approached, the other man didn't even look up from the newspaper in his hand to ask, "What brings you here, Rasul? Come looking for work, perhaps? Or did you just come to visit?"

Rasul, smiling weakly at the older man's words, denied, "Unlike many from my village, I did not come for a job. I come bearing a message and a request from Miujiza."

"I owe him a favor or two," he acknowledged, setting the paper down and removing his glasses. "What does the witch doctor want?"

"He speaks of an evil power, drenched in blood and tears, haunting his dreams of late. Our hunters have seen footprints of beasts of unusual size. And at night, we have been… stalked by creatures in the darkness. We have yet to see them, but everyone in the village can feel their presence just beyond sight and they are not the normal predators of the savanna. And though the greatest hunters of our village have tried to track these beasts, they can not get close enough. We are not cowards, but even we can fear these creatures. Especially when we hear Miujiza's dreams," he explained. "Finally, strange men have been spotted in the distance a few times, far from anywhere that might be important. They seem to be traveling towards the mountains. This last is not as alarming, but Miujiza says these are all connected. An evil walks these lands that does not belong. One that can only be stopped by those of _extraordinary_ abilities, he says."

The older man's eyes flickered momentarily away from Rasul. Even without looking, the messenger knew he was glancing in the direction of the edge of the town. Though he could not possibly see the location through the wall of the building, the man had looked towards the small burial grounds. He had been looking towards the site where two grave markers bore the name "Quatermain." Rasul didn't know what passed through his mind with that brief glance, but it resulted in him shaking his head slightly.

"Miujiza is either growing paranoid as he ages or things must be growing serious," he sighed, sitting up straighter. "All right. I'll see if I can hunt down your 'beasts' and keep an eye out for these strangers. I _do_ need something to occupy my time now. Spend enough time on adventures and you end up missing out on the hunt. And, even if I have more than enough reason to leave all of that behind and take greater care, I've certainly realized that I'm not dead and buried yet."

The younger man gave him an odd look, "Not for a lack of trying, though. Miujiza says you can only escape your fate so many times before it traps you. Whether it is your final resting place or finding your true purpose in life, you will not slip free of your fate again."

He nodded solemnly, "I would expect nothing less. My point, however, is that I'll help out the old witch doctor. I don't plan to go off 'fighting evil.' I'm hunting predators and keeping my eyes open, boy, and no more. I need a new hobby to occupy my time and to keep me from growing lazy, not a new purpose in life."

"Miujiza says that what we need is not known by any except the gods. Perhaps what you think you need is not what they _know_ you need," Rasul stated cryptically.

* * *

_**The storm rattled the windows, but it was not the only thing sending her scurrying from her bed. A nightmare of the pirate from the story had tossed the girl from her sleep. Already in a frightened state, the lighting flashes and the unnerving shadows added to her dread. Miss Bennet would be in her own bed by now and unavailable to chase away the hidden monsters the child's mind was conjuring. Besides, the proper and stern brunette was generally a nice enough woman, but wasn't very comforting. Mother was even more distant and even less of an option for the frightened little girl. Sliding out of her room, she headed slightly towards the only person she could turn to.** _

_**The estate house sported more servants than the town house, the one they went to during the summer in the city and where Mother would dress up for the fancy parties that the child would get to go to someday. But even with the increased number of people in the household and the rumbling thunder that seemed to echo through the halls, no one spotted the coppery-headed person creeping towards her goal. Even though the shadowy shapes of the furniture and drapes wee transformed into terrifying apparitions in the dark, she kept moving forward. Only one person could banish these horrible specters and make everything fine again.** _

_**Pulling the door open just enough to admit her tiny frame, she hurried into the equally lightless room. She could hear the slow breaths coming from the bed, demonstrating her savior was asleep. Part of her wanted to leave now and not disturb him with childish fears, but another crash of thunder caused her to cringingly proceed.** _

" _ **Rodney…?" she whimpered.**_

_**A muffled moan escaped from under the pillow, but she didn't receive any further response. Biting her bottom lip slightly, she crept closer to her brother's bed and gently shook his arm.** _

" _ **Rodney?" repeated the girl. "Rodney?"**_

_**Another tired groan emerged, but she could see him moving this time. Eventually, his head emerged as he sat up.** _

" _ **I'm up, I'm up," he muttered groggily. After a moment, in which he seemed to have awakened enough to take in his dark surroundings, he asked in a slightly concerned tone, "Lottie, what is it? Are you all right?"**_

_**She fumbled around with the pale fabric of her nightgown, not immediately wanting to admit her fears. Rodney was so grown up and nice, but didn't treat her like she was too young to do anything. During the winter time, he'd sneak her away from Miss Bennet to tell her stories he'd read or invent games far more interesting than those she'd played with her dolls. His games usually involved them having adventures exploring strange lands and outwitting villains. The most recent adventure had, inadvertently, caused her nightmare.** _

_**Slowly, Charlotte explained, "I was dreaming and… pirates came into my room and took me away. They were mean and scary and one of them only had one leg and…"** _

" _ **Lottie, Lottie, calm down," he soothed, sitting completely upright now and pulling her onto the bed beside him. "I guess I should not have chose**_ **that** _ **book. Listen, there are no pirates here. We are too far from the water for them to bother us anyway."**_

" _ **But Father said we're going back to London soon and that is near the water, right?" she pointed out, not quite able to abandon her fear yet.**_

_**Even in the darkness, she could see his mischievous smile, "Do you have such little faith in me, Charlotte? Even if some old pirate tried to kidnap you, do you think I would let him? I would rescue you, regardless of whether he is a pirate, an evil villain, or that monster that** _ **must** _**have stolen Victor's sense of humor."** _

_**She couldn't help giggling at their joke. No matter how many times Rodney might claim that monsters weren't real, he'd always add the exception of the one that took Victor's sense of humor. After all, there had to be an explanation for why their eldest sibling always seemed so serious. When the idea was suggested by Rodney on a day when Victor seemed particularly distant and boring, Charlotte had asked what such a monster would look like. By the time they were finished imaging the creature (blue spots, bulgy eyes, a long snout, and short arms), the pair were laughing out loud and had decided that was** _ **exactly** _**what happened. The private joke always seemed to resurface whenever Victor was discussed or when one of the more serious servants tried to spoil their fun.** _

" _ **I promise, Lottie, that I will always rescue you," he continued. "No one will ever hurt my little sister and get away with it. Besides, who is going to beg me to play piano if you were gone?" he teased. "I have to keep you around."**_

_**She gave him a tight hug around the middle. She** _ **knew** _**Rodney would keep his promise. Her big brother would never let her down.** _

_**A single thought still hid in the back of her mind, trying to ruin her moment of comfort. Father had mentioned that she and Rodney were spending too much time together, even though she didn't know how that could be bad. Actually, she could never seem to understand why they never seemed to get along. Father always acted like Rodney did something wrong. While her brother was allowed to sometimes go outside while on the estate, he was completely forbidden to set foot outside the town house. Charlotte had resigned herself to never understanding the animosity between her parent and favorite sibling, but the declaration by Father about reducing the time she could spend with Rodney was troubling. How could he rescue her and protect her if he wasn't allowed near her?** _

_**Carefully, she asked, "So you'll save me, no matter what happens?"** _

" _ **Of course I will," he repeated firmly. "You better not doubt that for a minute or else I shall have to find a pirate so I can prove it to you."**_

" _ **Okay, Rodney," she smiled sleepily, all signs of terror vanished. The storm and nightmare were forgotten, leaving only a certainty of her protection. He would keep his word and keep her safe. Her brother would never lie to her. He was her best friend and closest companion. Everything would be fine. "I believe you."**_

" _ **Good, because that old pirate would not have seen what hit him if I went after him," chuckled Rodney, scooping her up in his arms. "We better get you back to your room before someone notices you are gone."**_

_**Charlotte allowed her sibling to lift her, grinning tiredly at his muttered complaint about how she was getting too big for this. She was already falling asleep as he carried her out of his room. As long as he was around, nothing would hurt her.** _

* * *

Her familiar childhood memory, a minor comfort in her current situation, was snatched away as she awoke suddenly. There was no obvious reason that her sleep would end abruptly like that. Everything was exactly as it was when she fell asleep. She was still held prisoner and far from home.

The bars around her cell were still in place, her corset and now filthy dress was still on her, and her auburn hair, darker and closer to the shade her mother's hair once was than the coppery color from her childhood, was tangled and matted. She looked nothing like the proper young lady that they had first captured. Trapped in a small cabin on a small ship before being transferred to an enclosed carriage and finally dragged into some type of underground dwelling and tossed into a cell, she had been forced to wear the same set of clothes for over three weeks and looked more than a little ragged. Her only human contact in that time had been the silent pair of captors who brought her meals, emptied the clay chamber pot in the corner, refilled the oil lamp resting out of reach outside her cell, and originally escorted her to this dark hole. The same pair who had clamped a chemically-soaked rag over her face in the first place, but didn't seem to be the ones who planned the abduction. Neither of them would be due to appear for several hours, though. There was absolutely nothing that should have disturbed her rest.

Charlotte knew, however, what had tossed her from the dream so strongly. Her brother, the teasing and comforting person from her fading childhood memories, was long gone. Only months after that night, after they had returned to London, he had died. She couldn't remember much about that time period, but she could remember feeling so sad, confused, and lonely for a long time after that. The only comfort was when Ms. Baldwin, who became her governess instead of Ms. Kidd, agreed to start teaching her to play piano. Music had been her only connection to Rodney she had left. In time, the pain of loss began to heal and her memories faded. No one ever mentioned or spoke of Rodney and Father seemed to grow agitated if she tried to bring him up. She finally assumed his death was hard on them kept her silence. She never was able to grow close to her other brother, Victor, but that was only logical given the difference in age. She simply accepted that as part of her life.

Even as she grew into a proper lady as her parents wanted, she tried her best to retain at least a few recollections of her late sibling. Him, playing her favorite song on the piano. His mischievous smile as he teased her gently. The time he managed to sneak her out of the house entirely and take her into the forest near the estate house, teaching her to climb a tree and getting her so filthy that their minor adventure couldn't be hidden. This particular memory was precious to her, but particularly bitter sweet since she lost him not long after the promise to always save her.

She straightened her emerald green dress, a lovely article chosen to give her future mother-in-law all of the right impressions of the young lady and now wrinkled and smudged with dirt to the point where it undoubtedly seemed closer to the outfit of the lower class. Not that she was an expert of the fashions or even the lifestyles of anyone outside of the British upper class. Her father, and thus her mother and servants as well, seemed to take extreme care in sheltering her from contact with them. Actually, her contact with anyone outside of a narrow set of qualifications was kept to an absolute minimal. Even groups considered appropriate by most aristocrats, such as wealthy Americans who could bring money to a marriage if not a title, were among those she was discouraged from interacting with. Her father behaved as if she could lose her innocence and purity from a mere conversation with someone. That lack of familiarity with anyone outside of the aristocracy meant she couldn't predict what her captors wanted with her. Why did they kidnap her and lock her away in this dark cell far from home? What would they do to her?

Would anyone ever find her?

She bit her lip, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. Crying wouldn't help her. She cried enough when she first woke up on that ship, locked up and sailing further and further away from her home. Now, there was no reason to keep crying again. She was a young lady, due to be married in only a few months to a man of fine social standing, not the whimpering child in the dream. Surely there was something she could do other than curl up in a corner and weep? Granted, none of the womanly arts that Ms. Baldwin and Mother had taught her would be useful at the moment… Embroidery and the proper behavior for a wife would not help her in this gloomy prison. And while tears were equally useless to her, Charlotte felt the overwhelming urge to cry at the idea she may never leave this place. The idea she might even die here…

Her struggle to keep the tears at bay finally failed. She was too tired and everything seemed too hopeless. There was no evidence that she would ever be rescued or even a hint of what her ultimate fate at the hands of these strangers could be. So, the trail of tears down her cheeks that would be invisible in the inky darkness anyway could be excused. As could the childish hope that somehow, by some miracle, her brother would keep his promise even from beyond the grave.

* * *

The Honorable Mr. Charles Ashmore rubbed his temple tiredly, wondering if _some_ superstitious fears may have a grain of truth to them. After what had been befalling him lately certainly seemed to offer evidence that certain forces were attempting to work against the future lord. Though he could try blaming chance, it would be far easier to name a specific source of his current ill luck. And he had such an easy target to blame that the temptation was overwhelming. In fact, he was looking at it currently.

The Delhi Purple Sapphire, a gem approximately the size of a human eye, sat innocently on his desk. He had procured the jewel from a close friend, Mr. Edward Heron-Allen, with the intent of presenting it to his future bride. In all honesty, he really should have viewed the entire transaction with more suspicion. Though Ashmore was familiar enough with the supposed story of the stone and Mr. Heron-Allen even recited the history again when he handed the object over, the aristocrat should have been wary when the scientifically-minded Heron-Allen seemed to believe it enough to actually _give_ the jewel away. In fact, Ashmore could see that, in hindsight, his friend seemed afraid of the gem. The longer that Ashmore owned the stone, the more he began to believe that the stories were true as well.

They say that the Delhi Purple Sapphire was cursed. They say that the beautiful, but rather ordinary gem had been looted from a temple in India and was later found in Kanpur in 1857. From then on, it apparently brought nothing but misfortune to its owners. They would suffer from loss of health, loss of wealth, and some would even commit suicide while owning the stone. Rumor also said that Heron-Allen had tried to discard the jewel in the past. Once he supposedly tossed it in the Regent Canal and it was found and returned to him three months later. Another time, he gave it to a talented young singer, only for her to return it after her voice broke permanently and she could no longer perform.

Of course, those rumors were treated as nothing more than amusing stories to share at particularly dull dinner parties. They were shared between members of the upper middle class and several aristocrats, particularly the younger individuals, but they were never treated as factual events that they should take heed of. The idea of cursed gems was preposterous and laughable. By presenting the infamous stone to his future wife, he would be providing a fascinating conversational piece to create the illusion that she is more interesting. By wearing the gem, Miss Charlotte Talbot would become the focus of any social event because of the amazing stories surrounding it. And, by extension, he would gain greater prominence by decorating her with such an item. The others would possibly jest that the supposed curse would be outweighed by his good luck at obtaining such a woman. Her reasonable dowry, her family's social connections, and the business deal that would be implemented between his family's mine and her family's shipping company were all great benefits and added to his status, but the gem was simply the perfect finishing touch to the entire package.

The longer he owned the stone, however, the more he feared the cost would be too great. What had started as merely an opportunity to familiarize himself with the business that he would eventually inherit and would be providing a large income to his future estate had quickly spiraled downhill. At least two dozen workers had quit within days of his arrival with no real explanation. True, most were members of the indigenous people and cheaply replaced, but it was still highly unusual. Since then, there had been an uncommon number of cave-ins and other accidents. In addition to those incidents, the productivity of their highly dependable mine had dropped to barely a trickle of its usual output. Some of the more superstitious workers were beginning to believe the entire site was cursed, causing them to leave in droves. And Ashmore was beginning to believe they might be right.

He actually glared slightly at the stone, "How can a gem cause off of this?"

Unsurprisingly, he received no answer. The jewel simply sat there as if it was no different than the diamonds pulled from the earth in the mine if not for the purple color. Every shred of logic seemed to suggest it was harmless, but his instincts screamed that the gem was to blame. He knew that everything that had happened to him lately was due entirely to that stupid rock. The only comfort he could manage to find was the fact his luck was not worst than what it was.

A light knock at the door drew his attention away from the cursed gem and back to his actual surroundings. The office was in the headquarters on site, intended to allow those in charge of the business to work close to where the diamonds were extracted. It was supposed to make the workers feel that their boss was closer and more likely to care about them personally, thus resulting in greater productivity. In reality, it made it easier to keep a close eye on the lazy, thieving masses and to punish them swifter if needed. The office itself was rather sparsely decorated since he or his father generally left the daily management of the mine to Mr. Wickes and only came personally to the site on rare occasions. This particular office remained empty and unused most of the time due to that fact while Mr. Wickes' was the one generally in use. There was, at least, a well-built desk and a comfortable chair for him to sit on. Currently, the wooden surface was covered in paperwork that explained exactly how poorly the business was going lately… and that cursed gem. If someone was bringing another report describing how the latest disaster was going to affect the bottom line, he was going to hurl the jewel at their head.

"Come in," he snapped.

Mr. Wickes scurried in, holding a sheet of paper uneasily. While normally a confident businessman, the balding individual looked positively nervous. Whatever was on his mind could not be good. And the last thing Ashmore wanted to deal with at this moment was more bad news.

"Sir, this telegram just came for you from London," Wickes explained. "It seems to have been sent with as much secrecy as possible and, since I was the one to receive it at the time, I am the only one who has heard or seen any part of the message since it arrived. I brought it as swiftly as possible and I will keep my silence. The urgency of the contents seem to require your immediate attention."

Puzzled by his words, Ashmore accepted the telegram and scanned the page. It was from his future father-in-law. Almost subconsciously, he read aloud as he moved down the sheet.

"I have made a mistake. I contacted a group for help in a delicate matter. Meeting them only proved my decision wrong. The League is not the answer. The only remaining choice is to trade the stone."

He raised his eyebrow at the cryptic message, but continued.

"Strangers took my daughter and asked for the Delhi Purple Sapphire. You must give it to them…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Education time again. Both "Rasul" and "Miujiza" are both regional appropriate names. "Rasul" means "messenger" and "Miujiza" means "miracles." And all those stories surrounding the Delhi Purple Sapphire that Ashmore mentioned? I'm not making them up. It is supposed to really be cursed and to have been connected to multiple incidents of misfortune. Edward Heron-Allen is also supposed to have tried to get rid of it by giving it away only to have it returned. The whole "tossing it into the Regent Canal" story? An actual legend that may or may not be true, but is definitely not my imagination. And those are only the ones that happened prior to 1900. There are even some odd occurrences connected to it in more modern days. It is pretty interesting.


	6. Not a Romantic and Coincidences

He liked to think that he was a patient man. Stealing required the patience to wait for the appropriate moment and he was already a skilled thief long before he first heard of that crazy Griffin figuring out the secret of invisibility. But some events truly tried his patience. Hiding out in Mongolia, which was deathly cold even in the summer, while waiting to find out if the League managed to survive and actually received his messages was one of those events. They couldn't risk returning a message to him since one of 'M's men might notice. Thus, he'd been forced to wait until he finally found them on one of his frigid excursions to the rendezvous point to find out if they were even alive. Of course, being relieved they had survived and had finally arrived didn't mean he was willing to pass up an opportunity for some fun at Mina's expense.

This time, however, his patience was gone before the Nautilus left the dock. It didn't matter he hadn't seen or spoken to Charlotte in over a decade and he'd essentially been kicked out of the family a long time ago. His little sister was in trouble and he was going to find a way to help her. Just because the entire Talbot bloodline seemed to be missing the ability to care about the fate of individual family members didn't mean he had to act as heartless as them. After all, he wasn't a Talbot anymore. He wasn't _worthy_ of that name. And he didn't want it either. As long as he could ensure her safety, he was perfectly content vanishing back out of that aristocratic world once more.

Abruptly, a light blow to the back of his transparent head yanked him out of his thoughts. Without turning, he could already guess who was behind the hit and couldn't keep the slight amusement out of his voice.

"Tom, this seems vaguely familiar, except I was the one smacking you."

The blond American smiled at the floating leather jacket, "Well, you're the walking around looking like the weight of the world is on your shoulders this time."

Skinner chuckled and waved an empty sleeve at his greasepaint-free face, "If you can see my expression right now, I'd _love_ to know how."

"You know what I mean. You haven't stolen any of Mina's clothes, you're on the deck the moment we surface and stare impatiently at the horizon,' he gestured at their current position overlooking the ocean, "and you've asked Nemo three times if his 'overgrown raft' can move any faster. We understand you're worried, but we're moving faster than anyone else in the world would be able to. And they can't hurt her since they're holding her for ransom and would need to keep her unharmed. So, please relax a little and start acting like our gentleman thief again, or I'll borrow Mina's chemistry set and find a way to turn all of your greasepaint blue."

This particular threat succeeded in causing the invisible man to break out in laughter for several minutes. Apparently his efforts to keep Tom from blaming himself for what happened to Allan had worked too well, resulting in the blond young man picking up a few traits from him in order to return the favor. Obviously neither one of them would be allowed to wallow in self-pity for long without the other taking action. The American was just like a brother he could actually stand and even like.

"Well, Tom," remarked Skinner once he stopped laughing enough to speak , "I don't know if our dear Mina will appreciate you encouraging me to pilfer her more delicate articles again, but thanks. Though it would have been interesting to see the others gawk at my blue face if you did go through with that threat."

"Honestly, I think your sulking was starting to unnerve even her. It isn't normal for your thieving hands to leave her belongings alone for this long," he confided."

"'Sulking'? Tom, you wound me," claimed the gentleman thief, clasping his invisible hands to his chest in mock hurt. "That makes me sound like a child."

"Really? I wonder why _that_ could be…" grinned Tom.

* * *

Acting on his previous observations about Edward's interest in the mysteries surrounding Skinner, Henry was searching through Nemo's extensive library. His eyes scanned the collections of classical literature, tomes of historical events, recorded observations of natural phenomena, and even the medical research of various doctors scattered across multiple continents that he had examined in the past. Every now and then, he would identify a book that would suit his needs and mentally add it to his count. As he reached the end of another shelf, he came to the conclusion that there were enough of these literary works to keep him occupied for several months, if not years. And if it worked as he hoped, he could add to Nemo's collection on one of their stops at port.

"Finding anything of interest?" a voice from behind him asked as he extracted a particular book.

Jerking in surprise, and causing a chuckled of amusement from Edward, Henry turned to find that Mina had decided to join him in the library. Trying to calm down after the unexpected shock, the mild-mannered doctor tried to give her a friendly smile.

"I didn't mean to startle you," she apologized. "I forget sometimes how quiet I can be."

"It's quite all right," he responded, trying not to fall back behind his wall of nervousness while alone with the beautiful vampire again.

Mina glanced at the title of his selection, "'The Murders in the Rue Morgue' by Edgar Allen Poe. I didn't know you enjoyed mysteries."

"I generally don't," admitted the doctor. "Particularly those that begin with a murder, but I believe Edward might be developing an interest in untangling such things. I'm hoping that supporting this… hobby might encourage him to at least limit his other _hobbies_."

"You're dreaming, Henry," mocked his alter ego, the image of the larger entity reflecting off the curved shape of the reading lamp. "I am no tame dog, sitting docile on my master's lap. I am the wolf waiting for the hunt with a very unique pack. The prey is fiercer, and their terror more sweet, but they are still my sport to hunt. I cannot be bought off with a _book_."

The doctor stared at the reflection a moment. Neither responded for a moment, but the doctor had realized something interesting in Edward's tone. Regardless of what he might have actually said, he didn't seem to actually dislike the idea. It almost sounded like his darker half was just posturing because he felt that reaction was expected. The oddly-eloquent killer wanted to read the mystery story, to solve on intriguing puzzle with his mind, but did not wish to openly express that desire. But Henry knew the brute's mind nearly as well as he knew his own (for obvious reasons) and could detect the faint falsity in Edward's disinterest in the book.

With extreme casualness, the doctor moved to place the book on the shelf. Just as it touched the wooden surface, his alter ego gave in.

"Just take the bloody book and wipe the smug look off your face, Henry."

Doing as Edward said, he couldn't help enjoying the small victory of calling his bluff. The nearly-sulky tone his alter ego had adopted when he was forced to admit he was interested in something other than his violent sport was actually a real, definitive sign that his other half was more than an evil monster. His past acts could be explained away as self-preservation or just chose the path that would lead to the greatest possible sport, but an interest in something as mundane as the mental puzzles that a good mystery could provide was nothing beyond a miracle in his mind. It was proof that Edward had grown beyond a simple concentration of one man's evil that he started as into a true person with interests outside the foulest acts imaginable. He'd already possessed his own personality and opinions, as he loved to express whenever it would disturb Henry the most, but it always seemed to focus on vile actions and disgusting thoughts. But this innocent-seeming interest gave Edward an appearance of depth that the doctor had never expected. Perhaps he could actually begin to hope that his alter ego was not a complete monster.

Or perhaps he was making too great a deal out of a minor event. As he once said, don't make a saint out of a sinner. Edward was still an unpredictable element who could easily cause as much harm as good. Regardless of his developing interest in mysteries and the odd near-friendship that the eloquent killer seemed to feel concerning the League (not to mention his expressed desire about Mina…), his alter ego might someday toss it all aside to return to his previous behavior.

Realizing he'd been silent far too long and ignoring the lovely lady in front of him, Henry stuttered out an apology, "I'm so sorry. My mind was preoccupied. That was rude of me."

"It is quite all right," she smiled, an understanding look in her eyes announcing that she could recognize the signs that he'd been dealing with Edward. It was mildly embarrassing that he was so easy to read, but also flattering that she knew him that well. "I hope your idea works out."

She began running her fingertip across the volumes, searching the titles for something. After a moment, Henry decided to press his luck and continue the conversation.

"Might I inquire what it is you are looking for?"

The auburn-haired woman gave him a small smile, "Just something to pass the time until we arrive."

"If she's bored, I could always…" began Edward, but the doctor interrupted before he could hear his alter ego's ideas and have his earlier hope about the brute dashed.

"If you do not think I am being too bold, Mrs. Harker, might I make a suggestion?" He reached over and pulled out a novel he'd spotted earlier. "'Sonnets from the Portuguese' by Elizabeth Barrett Browning might interest you."

'You are truly pathetic. She's never going to notice you as anything more than a nervous doctor at this rate. We're going to die of old age by the time you actually act," growled Edward in frustration. "Tell the blasted woman you want her; don't give her the stupid book. Court her like a civilized person if you have to, but do _something_. If you don't take the formula and let me handle things, then you have to take action."

She took the offered tome from his hand as Henry tried to ignore the advice from his alter-ego. He didn't deserve her and Edward _certainly_ wasn't worthy of her attention. Though the doctor had already accepted this fact, his other half wasn't apparently going to give up without a fight.

"Thank you, Henry," she replied. "And I've asked you to call me 'Mina,' remember?"

He glanced down, finally losing the struggle to maintain eye contact with her during the conversation, and answered, "I'm sorry. I forget. I shall try harder to remember."

"Liar," Edward accused. "You didn't forget. It's part of your silly attempt to keep a distance from her, to act proper and like a gentleman." His tone was mocking and, perhaps, a little annoyed. "You think that calling her 'Mrs. Harker' will keep you from falling for her and not risk heartbreak. You're already too late for that, Henry. You love her, but you're too spineless and weak to say a word. I could have solved this months ago, but you're too blind and 'noble' for that." His voice dropped to a savage growl, "You let that Dorian set his traitorous hands on her. If you don't do something soon, that Sawyer boy will have her instead."

Henry tried to not listen to his alter ego's rant, but he couldn't help admitting Edward was correct about his explanation of why he preferred to use Mina's more formal name. He was also right that he already loved her and that Tom would be more likely to gain her affections. The young man was a good person that was everything that the beautiful woman deserved. And, regardless of what his alter ego might want, he would not stand in their way. She deserved to be happy and someone who carried a personality like Edward's in this mind could never give her that happiness.

With a nod of thanks, the vampire carried her book out of the library and towards her room. After a moment of watching her graceful movements, Henry collected his selection and followed her out. For a second as he left the empty library, he could swear he heard a soft muttering.

"Blind fools."

* * *

After Tom's little speech about not focusing on what he could not control and to stop creeping everyone out by acting like a "sulky child," no matter how concerned he was about Charlotte, Skinner decided to get back into his old routine. Sneaking around the Nautilus, poking into everyone's business without them realizing he was there, was actually a nice distraction from everything that was going on. Especially when he crept into the library where he was able to witness Henry miss the perfect opportunity concerning Mina.

Honestly, it was kind of a sad display. Between the doctor's resignation of his inadequacy as a person and Tom's mildly fawning behavior at times, it was like watching a pair of love-sick vultures circling the only female in the entire League. And, as much as he liked the American, the blond young man just wasn't right for the vampire and vice versa. The sooner Tom realized that and Henry actually gained some confidence concerning the fact that he deserved to be in love, the sooner everyone could get on with their lives and the young American could work on finding someone better suited for him. And Skinner could tease him about her.

As he watched the vampire and doctor leave with their respective books, Skinner couldn't help muttering, "Blind fools."

He wasn't the most romantically-minded person in the world. He wasn't the type that placed much faith in the idea that you could find true love in once special person out of all the people on the planet and that everything would be perfect after that. If he found a pretty girl and she didn't slap his head off for suggesting it, he had no qualms with having some fun together. Of course, the number of women who agreed to that sort of thing sharply decreased after he became invisible. Another _wonderful_ benefit of his particular condition. He wasn't really looking for someone to spend the rest of his life with or anything emotional like that but that didn't mean he didn't recognize the dumbstruck expression of someone that believed they'd found that person.

And as much as he hated considering his origins, there was no greater matchmakers than the aristocrats. They begin arranging marriages with their children, even while claiming free choice, with such expert skill that the poor fools never noticed until after the vows that they never actually decided on their own spouse. If he wanted to have this little drama over anytime in the near future, he might have to channel some of that "matchmaking" power to sort out the pair of suitors. An intriguing idea, but not one he felt compelled to immediately employee. He could save this plan for another day; a day after things calmed down again.

For now, there were more fun possibilities to explore. Mina was in her room and she was overdue for a visit by the invisible man. Annoying a vampire might be dangerous, but it was always entertaining.

* * *

Ashmore stared tiredly at the busy crowds of people that moved through the streets of Mombasa. This coastal area, an important center of trade, sported some actual signs of civilization mixed with clearer signs that this was very different than London. It was a metropolis of a plantation society, with both a dock for shipping out goods towards the sea and a rail that would someday be used for moving the spices, gold, and ivory over land. This busy location, with both the owners of large chunks of land and the poorer people who worked it moving together in a loud throng of inhabitants, was the capital of Kenya. And it was the first stop towards his destination.

It had been far too easy to charter a ship from the South African mine to Kenya, though the time required to travel even that relatively short distance was grating. Some of those at the mine seemed to be almost eager to be rid of him. They believed that the horrible luck surrounding the site would follow the aristocrat, sparing them from further harm. As insulting as that view might be, he only had to touch the concealed shape in his pocket to admit they might be right.

The least appealing aspect of visiting this continent was how sharply in contrasted with the civilized nature of his home city. While Mombasa was very well-developed for a location so far from the comfort of London and England in general, it was still a rather backwards and unpleasant place. The outfits of some of the ladies present tried to mimic a less-constricting version of those worn back home and the gentlemen's clubs that could be found attempted to be similar to those that could be found in the foggy city, they could simply never measure up to London.

A very clear example of this would be how difficult it was to locate proper transportation further inland to the designated location. In the city, all he would have to do would be to take one of the family's carriages or, if he was unable to do that, hire one of the cabs that were always nearby. Here, at this dark corner of the Empire, he had to actively search for a reasonably reliable-seeming individual who could transport him in a manner worthy of his standing.

Though there was the Uganda Railway, it was incomplete thus far and most of the travel and shipping was by ox cart. That option was unacceptable for someone like him. Instead, he began seeking an alternate mode of transportation from one of the local people. He knew someone in this place had to have a horse and carriage that he could hire.

His plan was quite simple and brilliant. He would proceed to the meeting with the kidnappers and exchange the stone for his fiancée. If these strangers wished to own the cursed gem, Ashmore felt that they deserved whatever ill luck it brought on them. And rescuing his future wife from a terrible fate, even sacrificing an object of monetary value, might even be a greater benefit for his reputation than he might have gained with just the Delhi Purple Sapphire itself. He was a clever man and could spin a tale to make him seem to be an even greater hero if he needed to. With his future bride support whatever version of the story he shared with people, he would turn this rescue into exactly what he needed to impress anyone of importance.

Of course, if she was soiled by this event, Ashmore was confident he could convince Lord Talbot to increase her dowry to make up for him marrying damaged goods. He'd prefer to wed someone pure and clean, as was his right, but he wouldn't toss away the entire business alliance between the two families simply because she wasn't perfect anymore. Not that she was perfect to begin with; she was a little plain to be considered ideal. It didn't really matter what she looked like or what he thought about her, however. He wasn't a romantic fool that believed a marriage was about love. It was a way to gain power by forging new political connections, improving monetary supplies by combining the families, and to have an obedient wife to decorate and display as a sign of his impressive standing in society. She was a useful piece for his overall presentation of power. He needed her to gain important rewards, thus he would still marry her even if she was ruined by this kidnapping. He would just need to keep that aspect quiet while making Lord Talbot pay.

He continued to speak with several people, trying to find a proper form of transportation. Not only were they demanding outrageous prices, but a few of the more superstitious people were nervous about what the native people were whispering about. Stories of deadly animals and strange "magic" were described as warnings. Some, like the pair of man-eating lions stalking the workers of the railroad at the Tsavo River last year, were based on fact. These new rumors seemed beyond the realm of believability and were likely an attempt to drive the price up. Ashmore dismissed such claims as unimportant or pure fabrications and gave him a counter-offer, adding the condition that he would pay half at present and half upon his return. While clearly unhappy, his chosen transport accepted the deal.

Satisfied with his bargain, Ashmore reached into his pocket. The cursed gem, around the size of a human eye, was still there. That would change soon, however. He would be rid of the stone and his life would be back on course.

* * *

As expected, the Nautilus docking at the Mombasa drew the population's attention. The magnificent white shape that cut through the water, the Sword of the Ocean, was such a sharp contrast to the more practical and common vessels that it would be more surprising if it did not gain notice. The inhabitants of the Nautilus, both the League and the crew, were used to the idea that people would always be stunned by their arrival. Besides, the group had more on their minds than the local people's opinions of the amazing vessel.

"How hard is it to find a guide?" asked Tom rhetorically.

"Apparently quite difficult," Mina answered as another potential person rejected the offer.

Henry explained, "Someone else was here just a couple of days ago, asking for transportation to the same region. Between our arrival following so suddenly his with an identical destination and the fact that some of the native people are making them nervous with rumors, no one wants to get involved without a good reason. They fear that they could end up tangled in some type of trouble they aren't able to handle."

"Not certain they're wrong," muttered the blond American. Louder, he asked, "What kind of rumors are we talking about?"

"Nothing specific enough to draw any conclusions," admitted Nemo. "All they will say is that there is something evil further inland."

"Charming," grumbled Skinner, uncomfortable with the stifling combination of heat, leather jacket, and greasepaint. But, until they were away from this mildly-crowded area, he was trying to give the impression of being a visible person instead of a disembodied voice that people keep bumping into. "A vague evil. Bet you a half-crown we end up tangled in that mess before we leave this continent."

Ignoring his friend's likely true comment, Tom asked the next question of interest, "Do you think there _is_ a connection between the kidnappers and the man heading for the meeting point days before our arrival?"

"I do not know, but it is a coincidence that does not seem right," answered Captain Nemo slowly.

"Coincidences can get you killed," agreed Skinner. "I've seen that happen enough."

"This doesn't help us much. We know we need a guide or at least someone who can share enough detail of the local area to steer us towards this small outpost. Otherwise, we could wander this entire continent without finding it," summarized Henry.

"Sirs," a new voice interrupted. A local young man weaved through the crowds of people and past the dozen of Nemo's men who had accompanied them. He looked eager and determined to speak with them, "I am Rasul. I was told you need a guide? I live in a small village further west from here and know the land well. I am to help you until another takes my place."

The League members stared at him in surprise until Skinner muttered, "Remember what I said about coincidences?"

Trying to be slightly more tactful than the invisible man, the doctor point out, "While it is very kind of you to offer, you haven't heard where we're going or how much we're paying."

"It does not matter," Rasul explained. "I was sent here by Miujiza, our healer and leader, to help you. He told me to help the extraordinary strangers who came from below the sea in a great white blade. You will find what you seek, what you are not seeking, and a way to banish the evil that prowls our land. He saw this in a dream and thus it must be true. To ensure this will come to pass, I am to guide you. I require no payment."

"Ignoring the fact that it sounds like he's helping because a witch doctor told him to, I still don't like this," Skinner commented. "No one in their right mind would do something for nothing. If he says he don't want money, he's got something up his sleeve."

While privately agreeing that Rasul's appearance and offer to help was too good to be true, Tom reminded, "We don't exactly have that many offers and we are in a hurry."

The group exchanged looks and nods of understanding that this was their best offer. Taking a step forward, Mina looked the strange young man in the eyes. The American recognized the expression as that calm and cool one she adopted when she was at her most dangerous.

"We accept your offer, but let me make one thing clear. We are not people to be trifled with. If this coincidence proves not to be good fortune and is an attempt at a trap, you will not have the opportunity to regret that decision. We do not like betrayal, Rasul, and we do not tolerate traitors."

The combination of her deadly tone and her lady-like appearance left Tome once again with a slight smile. She was beautiful and quite impressive. Her tongue could slice through any defense and leave her verbal victims dazed, confused, and cringing. Honestly, it was easy to ignore her vampire nature and simply see her lashing words as her most dangerous feature.

Rasul didn't react to the threat except to say, "I am simply a messenger and guide. I am to help you until another arrives. I have no intention of bringing you harm."

* * *

Miujiza was correct when he claimed the strangers were both odd and amazing. They were as diverse and unusual as something from one of the traditional stories describing the wonders that once walked the earth that were passed down through the generations.

The serious man, dressed in blue from head to toe with a long blade strapped to his side and rather impressive beard, lead a group of similarly featured men. From viewing some of the workers of the railroad, Rasul knew they came from a distant land called India. But while some of these men were clearly followers, the one in blue was no one's worker. He carried himself with confidence and gave off the impression that he was a leader of men who also cared about his followers. Mostly, he seemed to simply be a mystery.

The young man, close to Rasul's age, had hair as light as many of the British people who came to this land. His words, however, were slightly different than the precise and careful nature of those spoken by those from England. It was the same language, but still different. Just as different villages have differing dialects, so did the English-speaking people it seemed. And though younger than anyone else, he was apparently treated as their equal. He listened to his older companions and treated their opinions with respect, but they gave him the same courtesy. The young man carried a rifle slung across his back and moved with the same subtle confidence of someone who knows his capabilities. Rasul had seen that look of a skilled hunter before and knew not to dismiss the light-haired individual because of his age. Young or old, some are simply born with the gift of dangerous competence and should be respected.

Another dangerous person was the woman. She looked fairly ordinary, besides the long red fabric wrapped around her neck, but her words were less than harmless. Though she looked the part, she was not a delicate British woman to be treated as something that could be shattered by the smallest incident. She was bold and blunt with her words, speaking her mind rather than allowing a man to command her life. She was not one to serve her husband meekly; she was one who would banish him to their hut and join the hunt in his stead. Actually, that wasn't the right comparison. She was more dangerous than that. Facing her with that poised and threatening expression, Rasul didn't feel as if he was facing a person. It was as if he was trapped in the darkness, unarmed, as a pride of lionesses stalked him. The woman gave off the sensation of being a deadly predator. Because the more dangerous animals on the continent could sometimes be convinced not to attack by not showing fear, he did not react to her threats. But he did not doubt that the woman was perfectly capable of fulfilling them if needed.

The man, with the short reddish hair and dressed in a rather formal attire that even the most proper British gentleman would not bother with in this warm weather except on formal occasions, seemed the most ordinary. He didn't automatically possess the same level of confidence and competence that his companions seemed to radiate. In comparison, he was unintimidating and perhaps a little underwhelming. He seemed easily distracted or simply unfocused; his gaze would flicker to rest on shiny objects and his mind seemed to occasionally be concerned with sights and sounds no one else noticed. The sharp glint of intelligence in his gaze dismissed the idea that his head was filled with only the childish fantasies that such unfocus might suggest. Rasul could tell he was smart and decided that the properly-dressed man's distraction, including the odd expression that reminded the younger man of someone listening to a conversation that no one could hear, was actually a sign of something else. The most ordinary member appeared to have hidden depths.

The final member, the suspicious one, was the farthest from ordinary. Rasul had seen some pale people before, especially those who came from London and who would quickly burn in the harsh sunlight if they did not take care. This man, however, was sthe palest he'd ever encountered. He was white as bleached bone or a cloud. His eyes were hidden behind dark glasses and he wore a long black coat. Even his hands were covered gloves. Perhaps these steps, along with the hat, were an attempt to prevent harm from the intense sun. With such pale, almost unnatural skin, it had to be hard on him. And with his blunt admission of his suspicions concerning the offer of help, one shared by the entire group, and this sense of impatience around him, Rasul couldn't help wondering what was hidden beneath those dark glasses.

They all were intriguing and were far more than they appeared. The strange evil that stalked the lands might be dangerous, but Miujiza's dreams had revealed those who could stop it. One, who Rasul previously knew well and had plenty of confidence in, was already hunting across the landscape for deadly wildlife while claiming not to be seeking out the main threat. After meeting these newcomers and examining his first impressions, he believed they were equally well-chosen. They would not fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, time to provide the historical info. Mombasa was a coastal city in Kenya and was the capital of the area until 1905, with the construction of the Uganda Railway, started in 1896 and the first train traveling along it in 1903, connecting the location to near Lake Victoria. The construction of said railway was interrupted between March 1989 and December 1989 by a pair of man-eating mane-less lions killing the workers (demonstrated in the 1996 movie "The Ghost and the Darkness"). The number of workers killed vary in different accounts from as few as 28 and as many as 135. The pair of predators were finally shot and killed after many attempts to either kill them or just prevent them from harming someone. (Too bad they didn't ask Quatermain to help before shipped off with the League and then died). And, in addition to numerous native African people working on the rail, there were a large number of workers brought in from British India. This created substantial Indian minority communities in Kenya and Uganda.


	7. Traveling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wildlife native to Kenya includes a couple types of antelope, giraffes, rhinoceros, elephants, African buffalos, hippos, lions, both spotted and striped hyenas, wild dogs, cheetahs, jackals, fruit bats (including the Straw-colored Fruit Bats that can live in colonies between 100,000 and a million individuals), and crocodiles. It would be so irresponsible of me not to at least mention some of these creatures in the story.

How in the world Nemo and his men could stand traveling in the heat while wearing those clothes, Skinner would never know. Their outfits didn't look particularly comfortable for the weather, but none behaved as if they were even slightly warm. Granted, they were wearing fabrics far cooler than his black leather in the African summer sun, but they also wore more than the greasepaint-coated invisible man. The unforgiving temperatures were making the thief think longingly of the frigid conditions of Mongolia, though he ignored the memories of the unpleasant and painful sensation of blood flow returning to numb feet or the fact he was lucky to have avoided frostbite. If it wasn't for the fact that he wasn't quite sure he could trust Rasul, he'd have done without the suffocatingly hot jacket and greasepaint completely. Of course, that idea raised the question of whether or not invisible flesh could be sunburned.

Skinner had to grudgingly admit that their guide had given no obvious reason not to trust him. The young man was polite, helpful, un-inquisitive, and seemed to have no further desire than to lead the League across the countryside. And that was why the gentleman thief was so suspicious. In all of his years, he never met anyone who would do something for nothing. No one expected them to either. That was why ideas like money and bribery existed; to offer an incentive to get a person to provide what you wanted. He joined the League initially for a chance to become visible again, not simply because the mysterious 'M' wanted him to supposedly prevent a war. Of course, staying with the group afterwards, not to mention risking his see-through skin by helping blow up the base in Mongolia and saving Tom was a completely different matter… As was the League agreeing to help find Charlotte… But those sorts of selfless acts are completely different.

But Rasul was too nice. He was close to their American in age, but lacked the proper obvious curiosity that someone so young should be exhibiting. The guide didn't ask about why they were here, what they were looking for, or anything beyond the name of the small outpost they needed to find. There were plenty of people in Skinner's line of work who might say they didn't want to know anything, especially the details of how someone came into possession of whatever expensive trinket they were trying to sale, but they would poke their nose in regardless. It made him nervous because he couldn't see Rasul digging, but that didn't mean he wasn't trying. He didn't ask probing questions, but Rasul had to be curious and Skinner knew he _had_ to be looking for answers somehow.

Perhaps his behavior could be explained by the fact his local witch doctor person told him to help them. Maybe he told the young man enough to satisfy him. Or he just told him not to bother the League. Of course, this lead to questions of how much this mysterious person knew and what exactly he was trying to get the group tangled in. A vague evil was wandering around and, once again, they were supposed to fix it. The only problem with that was the fact such a distraction could interfere with his primary goal of saving Charlotte.

Skinner adjusted his hat slightly, trying to block the sun's rays from hitting his greasepaint-coated face a little more effectively and vaguely noting the small herd of some kind of deer-like horned creatures in the distance. That was the main cause of his rather unpleasant mood. The heat, the unusual coincidence of Rasul showing up to meet them, and the supposed evil force that was apparently lurking around were all factors that grated on his already raw nerves. He didn't have any diversions from worrying about his sister except other aggravating concepts. Unfortunately, complaining mentally about the heat and considering paranoid thoughts about their guide was less stressful than considering what could be happening to her.

His earlier distractions on the Nautilus, namely spying and annoying Mina, weren't viable options currently. Not only did he not really feel like revealing his transparent nature to this Rasul character until he learned more, but he could also sense that her temper would be very short right now. Unlike the rather scattered and fragmented stories he'd managed to recall about them, the League's vampire did not burst into flame or crumble into dust in sunlight. He had noticed, however, that she tended to be more easily angered when she was standing in particular bright daylight. Sort of how other women were more volatile in their reactions towards him on certain days of the month. So annoying her while the intense African sun was shining on her might result in a stronger reaction than he could handle. He wasn't so desperate in need of a distraction that he would risk having his neck snapped or something by an extremely angry woman. Thus, he was stuck with topics like the heat and his likely over-paranoid ideas to keep back the frustrated worry.

Finally, an annoyed Skinner asked, "Are we there yet?"

* * *

There were two ways to reach the aristocrat's destination. One was a rather winding road that went through a number of small British outposts that could provide places to spend the night. The other was a straighter path that would require sleeping out in the open, but would result in a quicker trip. Of course, he had already decided on the journey's route as soon as the Honorable Mr. Ashmore hired him.

Not only could he not imagine the aristocrat wishing to spend the nights outdoors, but he had no intention of staying out in the dark anyway. Too many whispers of strange events and evil things lurking in the night to risk it. Though the British gentleman may call him superstitious or feel it was merely a strategy to make more money, he simply knew not to ignore warnings when he heard them. He would rather travel slower than encounter whatever was the source of all that unease.

He wouldn't tell the Honorable Mr. Ashmore about the faster option, however. No reason to trouble him over a choice he wouldn't be able to pick. No force on Earth would convince the guide to take the risk. He would urge the horse to reach the necessary speeds to ensure there were always walls and a roof to protect them by the time the sun set.

* * *

She glared at the door from her cage. They would be coming in soon. They would refill the oil in the lamp and deliver her "breakfast," though she could only guess if it was truly morning. Her captors never spoke and went through the routine motions efficiently without indicating they even noticed she existed. Chalotte couldn't take it any longer. Cowering in a cage in a dark room for weeks with only her thoughts and silence for company… She needed to hear another voice, to gain some answers about why they were keeping her here, before the solitude and despair of ever being found drover her over the edge. If she didn't try to gain some social interactions, she would end up as some stringy-haired mad-woman by the time this was over.

Crying and begging when she was first captured had gained her nothing. So she was going for a different approach. As much as her plan bothered her, she was adapting an attitude to mirror that of Miss Elizabeth Whitlock at her most scolding. The young lady, near Charlotte's own age and engaged to a rather prominent Earl, was a nightmare to any servant with her unyielding and unforgiving demands for perfection. Even if her instructions are performed without fault, the blond-haired beauty still gave them a verbal lashing that seemed to imply her belief that those under the employ of the upper class should be paying the aristocrats for the honor of working for them and for putting up with the disgraceful incompetence that was the defining trait of those who serve. Miss Whitlock also found ways to direct her harsh superiority toward her fellow young ladies, at least those of lower rank. A cool remark about a girl's flawed complexion, relatively small number of suitors, or imperfect grace on the dance floor was all the more cutting when delivered by someone who claimed to be a friend. Several people didn't particularly care for her attitude, Charlotte included, but she could make people react as she wished. Her self-important sneer and dismissal of others might be exactly what the kidnapped girl needed.

As the door to the room opened, Charlotte stood firmly in front of her cage's door and stated in a tone Miss Whitlock would be proud of, "I demand you explain yourself. You drag me from the street, transport me in insultingly unworthy manners, and housed me in a chamber I wouldn't keep the lowliest servant in. Now, explain why you are treating me so disrespectfully and you will immediately transfer me to more suitable surroundings. If you do not, my father will make you pay for this insolent and disgraceful behavior towards me."

The pair of men, unshaven and dirty, stared at her during her rant. They wore plain, loose clothes that were practical for the oppressively hot weather she had experienced as she was brought here, but they couldn't be as poor as they seemed. Around their left wrists was matching bracelets with blue and red gems imbedded. Such articles were not commonly worn by men, but they were certainly signs they had money.

Their expressions at her attempt to be forceful and arrogant suggested she wasn't fooling anyone. They actually seemed amused by her attempt to imitate Miss Whitlock. Charlotte knew she shouldn't be surprised since she could never act as over-confident and sneering as the young lady. She never though she deserved to consider herself as anyone very important, so why should she spend all her time trying to convince others of that fact?

As one man began to refill the oil lamp and the other handed her the thin gruel they brought for breakfast, she tried the sweeter, pleading tone that was closer to what she might use when dealing with her peers, "Please, can you at least tell me what you want from me? Surely that is not too much to ask, is it?"

Her proper, upper-class tone, cultivated by her mother and governess as being the only behavior appropriate for a young lady, failed to receive a response as well. Her shoulders, previously held back in correct posture, slumped slightly. It wasn't fair that everything she'd been taught didn't help. The polite, demure behavior she was supposed to demonstrate was as useless as the stuck-up personality of Miss Whitlock.

Abruptly, as her captor finished and turned to leave, the ghost of her brother edged into her voice, "Too dumb to talk then? Or did a mangy feline steal your tongue?"

Her parents would be horrified to hear such snippiness from their delicate daughter. She was also surprised, but she could easily imagine Rodney saying exactly those words. True, he generally kept his teasing good-humored, but it wasn't too far a stretch of the imagination for him to have chosen those words if he didn't want to be nice about it. She shouldn't behave like this; it was unbecoming of a young lady of her standing. Honestly, she didn't care at that moment. Her insults had made the pair pause with an identical expression of stunned surprise on both their faces. Strengthened by the reaction, she continued her bolder path.

"Perhaps you simply have no plan at all? You have not given any evidence that you have considered one. Perhaps you have kept me here while you try to combine you limited minds to discover a plan?"

It was different than Miss Whitlock's personality. She wasn't trying to use their social standing relative to hers to insult them while praising herself. She was focusing on what she actually knew about them: they were quiet and they brought her here without doing anything else. And she didn't have to brag about her own traits to make it work. She was merely mimicking Rodney's teasing with a slightly harsher edge to it.

Her budding confidence shriveled as one of the men chuckled in an unnerving manner. He gave his partner a grin before glancing back towards her.

"Seems the innocent little lamb has some spirit after all," he remarked, his predatory tone making her shiver and revise her desire for some kind of human interaction. She began to wish for silence again as he continued, "I would love to _fix_ that, but Master has other uses for you."

As a proper young lady of the upper class, she and her peers should logically be protected from the vulgar gossip about the lower classes. This includes discussion of gruesome murders and the horrible fates that could befall innocent girls at the hands of the worst sorts of men. These topics were _meant_ to be kept out of the ears of proper young ladies, but were exactly the sort of things that older girls would use to scare their younger peers with in private. They would whisper about terrifying things that could happen if they went without an escort and a man of the lower class, with thoroughly dishonorable intentions, came upon her. They would combine and alter tales to make them more frightening until it sounded as if any time a girl left the house alone, any male who was not an aristocrat would prey on her. So, though she shouldn't know what his tone and expression was suggesting, but she could guess.

"Your 'Master'?" she asked quietly, trying to draw the conversation away from those thoughts. "Who is he? What does he want?"

The man chuckled at her question, but didn't answer. Instead, he reached through the bars and stroked her hair before she could jerk away. Chuckling again, he walked out of the room with his leering companion. The door shut with a heavy thud, though there was no clicking of a lock since she was secure in her cell already. The silence and solitude instantly surrounded her again, feeling even heavier and more oppressive than before. Her hope that a human voice would help to push back the depressing quiet, even if the voice belonged to one of her captors, was completely disproven. The words themselves offered no comfort and the brief presence of a voice only made the renewed silence all the more deafening. There was no hope at all, was there? Whether she went crazy from isolation, was killed, or suffered some other nightmarish fate, she was never going to come out of this unharmed. Trying to find answers or simply remain sane was a waste of time. She wasn't normally a pessimist, but she couldn't find anything left to hope for.

Charlotte sat down on her small cot, closed her eyes, and completely gave up.

* * *

It was over a week's travel inland from where they landed, but they finally made it to the tiny outpost named in the note. It was essentially a tiny stop on the way to more important locations; it was a place to restock supplies and little more. There were less than a dozen buildings total, including a supply store, an inn, and a few houses. It was close enough to the mountains to make the terrain rougher, but would still be several hours travel to reach the actual mountains themselves. Overall, the place was small enough and out of the way that any stranger would immediately be noticed.

The League's arrival certainly caught the attention of the inhabitants for that reason, along with the usual reasons concerning their diverse nature. The close-knit community concerned Mina, however. Trying to hide and hold prisoner a strange girl here would be very difficult to manage without attracting the local people's interest. She suspected that Charlotte wasn't actually held within the small town itself. The kidnapper had simply chosen the location for his own reasons. Perhaps he was even a resident of the area, explaining why he would not stand out.

The woman refrained from stating her suspicions for now though. The moment Skinner set foot in the town, Mina could practically feel the relief coming off of the greasepaint-coated invisible man. He wanted to believe that his sister was close and that she would soon be safe. She didn't doubt that he would remove his jacket and greasepaint at the first chance he had and would creep around the different buildings searching. She didn't feel it was her right to extinguish that hope with her theories. And perhaps he would prove her wrong and find the girl in a locked room of one of the houses.

Mostly, she wanted to get out of the direct sunlight. The vampiric woman was nowhere as sensitive to the light of day as the monstrous Dracula, but the sun's beams could give her a very annoying headache. She had not been in the most pleasant of moods while traveling across the savanna with the intense light beating down. By some miracle, Skinner had developed some sense of self-preservation and refrained from his usual antics. Unfortunately, Tom had continued with his attempts to be his young, helpful, and mildly fawning self. Normally, she could handle his attention and occasionally found it sweet. With her sunlight-induced headache, her responses had been tense and short. The blond American should feel lucky that she didn't toss him across the landscape after a particular trying day. The others seemed to get the message, but the persistent young man took longer to realize that she needed to be left alone while spending this much time under the African sun. By the evenings, she would generally be in a far better mood and more civil to her friends, thus assuring them her short temper was nothing personal.

Stepping into the darker interior of the inn, her light-induced headache quickly faded away. Mina couldn't help smiling in relief. Even the brightest days in England never seemed to have the sun beaming down so harsh and directly as it did over Kenya. She truly missed the cooler overcast days in London and the darkness underwater that the Nautilus provided.

A vaguely overweight and short man approached the entering group. From his welcoming smile and faint hint of greed in his eyes, she assumed he owned the establishment. His dark-brown hair was in the process of leaving his head entirely and his white shirt was already sweat-stained by the day's heat. As he reached out his hand to shake those of the arrivals, she caught a glimpse of an unusual-looking copper wire bracelet with a couple of small gemstones woven in. Beyond that minor oddity, he seemed like a rather ordinary man who was eager to take their money.

"Welcome, my friends. This has been a very profitable day, it seems," he commented cheerfully as he reached Henry with his greeting. "I thought I was lucky to have the arrival of the aristocrat and his guide, but now all of my rooms will be filled."

"Oh… glad to hear it," the doctor responded, slightly off-balanced by the enthusiasm of the shorter man.

Smiling mildly, Mina rescued her team mate by asking, "This aristocrat… Does he have a name?"

Henry looked relieved as the greeter turned away from him. Upon realizing who was speaking to him, the short man grinned and began trying to flatten his scarce hair into a semblance of order. Once more, it seemed that she was gaining unwanted attention from a man who saw a pretty face and instantly thought they knew her. He probably didn't have many options in this small town to choose from and it wasn't as if he was another blood-sucking creature of the night intending to destroy her life, but that didn't change the fact she had no desire for him to begin fawning over her. Tom did that enough already. The young man was currently glaring rather strongly at the innkeeper. Even more surprising was the slight frown that crossed Henry's face briefly as the short individual clasped her hand.

"How rude of me not to introduce me to such a beautiful lady properly. I'm so sorry," he apologized. "My name is Oscar Smith, owner of this fine establishment. The guest you are inquiring about, Miss…"

"Harker. _Mrs._ Harker," she stated, emphasizing the title so that it sounded as if she was still married instead of a widow.

Her implied unavailability cooled Mr. Smith's eager expression somewhat, just enough that he viewed her as a customer once again instead of a single woman, and he continued, "Mrs. Harker, his name is the Honorable Mr. Charles Ashmore. He arrived not long before you and…" he glanced at the League members and Nemo's people, "…your companions."

She knew that name. She'd heard it before. She'd heard it back in London, in the parlor of that frustrating Lord Talbot while he described his daughter's kidnapping. The name belonged to Charlotte's fiancé, the man in possession of the gemstone her kidnapper desired. He shouldn't be here. Unless someone contacted him specifically.

Mina glanced at her fellow League members. They had drawn the same conclusion as she had. He was here to make the trade. The question, however, was if this would prove to be helpful to them or if it could place the young lady in further danger. Whatever they decided to do, they would have to take his presence into account.

"I see…" she commented slowly. "That is certainly interesting to hear. Perhaps we could speak with him later. For now, could you show us up to our rooms? It has been a long few days, Mr. Smith, and I suspect tonight will prove to be eventful."


	8. A Surprising Danger

Invisibility is not as easy as it seems at first. Just because you're transparent doesn't mean an observant person couldn't spot you. Rain runs down you, snow piles on you, and debris blown by the wind is stopped by your presence and bounces off. Dust can coat you. Mud can stick to your feet. Your footprints can still be left in snow, soft dirt, and fresh mud. But while footprints were to be expected, the impression of your feet can give your position away when you stand in a puddle, on grass, or even on a thick rug. And that's not even considering the fact that every canine is very much aware of you. Granted, most people don't spend their time purposefully searching for subtle hints of an invisible man being present. They would notice floating objects being stolen or things getting knocked over, but they rarely spot less obvious clues. Skinner wasn't one to take chances on their obliviousness, however. He was already a skilled thief prior to becoming transparent; he just used his practice at stealth in order to maximize the fact he could not actually be seen. It also meant that he was probably the cleanest thief to ever set foot on the East Side.

Silently and invisibly, he used every shred of skill to navigate all the dark corners and hidden sections of the small outpost. No matter what plan of action the League decided to follow to save Charlotte, they still needed to find her first. Thus, he was creeping around the buildings, listening to the inhabitants' gossip, and slipped inside whenever he could manage. No one detected his presence, but he couldn't find her either. No matter which small closet or cellar he checked, there was no young lady tied up and waiting to be rescued. It was frustrating and the fact that a large percentage of the population chose to go around wearing nearly identical gemstone-embedded bracelets that were likely worth quite a lot was an unneeded distraction for the thief.

Actually, after the sixth person with the blue-and-red-stone-encrusted piece of jewelry, it began to shift from a distraction to mildly concerning. He could easily estimate the relative worth of the gems and the bracelet in general. A small outpost, one of little wealth and importance, was not a location where such treasures should be common. One person with expensive jewelry would be notable; multiple matching pieces scattered among the population was highly unlikely. Skinner began to wonder if the unusual riches were connected to the kidnapper. Could it be some type of bribery to keep the inhabitants of the small outpost quiet? He didn't like coincidences and these odd pieces of jewelry being worn by almost all the people present was shaping up to be a huge coincidence.

A man sitting out on his porch, sleeping lightly, offered an opportunity to examine the bracelets closer. Curiosity and his tendency to steal anything of value he could get his hands on declared he had to try taking the piece of jewelry. He couldn't call himself a gentleman thief if he passed up such an opportunity. His target was snoring quietly, apparently lulled into a soothing sleep by the fading warmth of the setting sun. Quite possibly, he wouldn't even awaken if the bracelet was slid off his wrist.

The actual setting of the bracelet wasn't anything special. It simply looked like copper wires, though they were artistically woven together. The jewels themselves were far more appealing. Any thief who wants to maximize his income can tell the difference between real gemstones and cheap colored glass, so he could tell the blue and red stones that dotted the surface would be worth a reasonable amount of money. None of the stones were very large or even uniform in size and cut. If Skinner had to describe them, he would say the bracelet was the work of an amateur who gained a large collection of mixed stones and decided to stick them on a piece of jewelry swiftly. At a distance or from a casual glance, it seemed highly decorative and valuable. Closer, it was somewhat less impressive while still being valuable. Gemstones can be removed and sold to jewelers who can cut them into proper shapes later.

As his transparent fingertips lightly brushed against the bracelet, Skinner froze. The contact felt wrong, sending his instincts into full alert. As soon as he touched the blue stone, a sapphire, an unsettling presence seemed to be trying to creep into his mind. It was like a faint whisper, an unknown entity breathing quiet words into his head. _Obey_ , it told him. _Follow unquestioningly. Do as the Master desires. Unwavering loyalty. Obey._

The slumbering man shifted in his sleep, breaking contact between the invisible thief and the bracelet. Instantly, the sensation of that unwelcome presence in his mind was gone. Skinner suppressed a shudder and took a step away from the unnatural jewelry. Let all those logically-minded scientists scoff at silly superstitions; between Mina being a vampire and Dorian's immortality, Skinner knew not everything could be explained by science. Whatever he'd just felt was supernatural and he wanted nothing to do with it.

Skinner considered the implications of his little "discovery." If he experienced that type of reaction by just _touching_ the thing, what would be the effect of wearing it? He'd be obedient and loyal to whoever "the Master" was. And since almost everyone in the outpost wore one…

"We may have a problem," he whispered.

* * *

Considering the fact their most stealthy member had, unsurprisingly, already disappeared to carefully search the area, Tom found himself in the role of watching Ashmore. The others, Nemo, his men, Henry, and Mina, would be making their own examination of the small outpost, asking questions, and generally trying to keep an eye out for anything unusual. The letter Lord Talbot had provided did not name a precise location within the outpost for the exchange to occur, only a statement that the kidnapper would find the exchanger. Since Ashmore was almost certainly here to trade, someone had to stay at the inn in case he did something incredibly foolish. Tom knew this fact and understood the logic behind it. He just wished that he could have some company beside Rasul.

Granted, their native guide had done nothing wrong and had given them no reason to be suspicious of him after his perfectly-timed arrival to lead them to their destination. He understood the lay of the land and chose paths that brought them to the outpost quickly, even though this brought him far beyond his usual travels. Rasul explained that few members of the village ever come to this area since the distance from his home was so great. He had been utterly dependable and Tom could feel his guard lowering around the young man. Unfortunately, he didn't know what to say.

The blond American could spin a wild tale of his childhood exploits, exaggerating and changing small parts to make the events seem more amazing, but almost all of his best adventures as a boy involved Huck. While time had passed and those wounds had begun to heal, he wasn't quite ready to talk about his lost friend to someone who was practically a stranger. His more recent ones, those that required no alterations to be exciting, offered a different problem. Since several of the League members were trying not share their unique qualities with Rasul, he would have to skip over so many parts that there would be no point in attempting.

Thus, the pair was sitting silently watching the equally quiet Ashmore from across the room. The aristocrat was obviously waiting for someone, glancing towards the door and touching his pocket reassuringly. At least Tom was trying to be subtle and held an old newspaper in front of his face, occasionally skimming the article about the solar eclipse visible back home in America in late May. Undoubtedly, his more scientifically-minded friends would have been more interested in the rare event, but Tom's main focus was on the well-dressed man. Anyone who approached Ashmore would be viewed with suspicion. They could be connected to the kidnapper himself. If they try to collect the mysterious stone, the Delhi Purple Sapphire, from the aristocrat, Tom would make sure they came out of this with Charlotte Talbot even if they tried to double-cross Ashmore.

"Miujiza said you and your friends are searching for something important here, but you will not tell me what," remarked Rasul abruptly, but quietly. "You follow me across the land to gain what you seek and yet you watch that rich man across the room as if he was the quarry of a hunt. If I might ask, what are you seeking in this place?"

Tom was silent for a few moments, contemplating his response. On the one hand, there was Skinner's remark about not trusting coincidences and Rasul's appearance at Mombasa. On the other, there was absolutely no evidence of deceit or ill-intent from him. Also, if the rescue proved successful and they added Charlotte to their group, Rasul would realize the truth of their mission anyway. A few details couldn't hurt.

"We're after a _someone_ instead of a something," the blond American explained softly. "We came to save a girl who is being held hostage. That man over there," he nodded in Ashmore's direction discreetly, "is here to make an exchange for her, but there are no guarantees this will result in her safety. Hopefully, the others will find her while we keep an eye out for the kidnapper."

Rasul nodded thoughtfully, "A noble cause. Is the stolen girl a person of importance? She must be someone of particular interest to attract the attention of such extraordinary people?"

"Sort of…" murmured the adventurous young man, not quite willing to share his friend's secret or the identity of the aristocratic family that Skinner and Charlotte both came from. "She deserves to be saved regardless of how important she might be."

The guide remained silent, studying the American's features for an answer to an unspoken question. Whatever he was seeking, Tom didn't know. He did know that the close scrutiny was fairly uncomfortable. The blond young man allowed his attention to wander back to their target, Ashmore. Currently, Mr. Smith was speaking softly to the aristocrat. Ashmore was frowning slightly at the words, but he didn't seem overly upset. If Tom had to guess, the matter seemed to be some trivial matter such as the food options available at this isolated inn. Either way, the innkeeper didn't seem to be a threat. Bored, the American turned back towards his companion.

Slowly, Rasul stated, "I believe you would indeed save someone simply because it is the right thing to do. Just as you will destroy the evil infecting the land; Miujiza has foreseen this for you will not allow such darkness to exist." Before Tom could inquire for more information about the continued insistence of the League's future actions, the guide continued firmly, "But I believe that she is important. She is connected to at least part of your group. And, if Miujiza is correct about the mysteries of your friends as he is about every other wonder to walk this world, she will not be the only important piece of the past you shall recover."

The young man frowned at the enigmatic words and asked, "What do you mean?"

"You are a young hunter, but not the only one to track the dangerous prey," he responded cryptically. "It did not immediately occur to me, though I was told some of what to expect, but I see the similarity now. Not the same face or blood, but family all the same. Both of you know of your deadly skill with a weapon and move with that confidence. You are both hunters. And before conquering this threat, the hunters will come together."

Before he could demand a clearer answer, a shout of outrage rang out over the room. Ashmore, the aristocrat they were meant to watch, was struggling against the balding innkeeper. Mr. Smith was ripping at the rich man's clothes, trying to gain access to the pocket Ashmore had previously been patting protectively. The ease that the short and stout individual displayed at fending off the aristocrat's attempts to stop the efforts was mildly concerning. Mr. Smith must have greater strength than his figure would suggest. How else did he hold Ashmore's arm at that painful-looking angle so effortlessly?

Tom and Rasul, reacting to the shout, sprinted across the room. The young American reached the struggling pair just as the innkeeper extracted a purple gemstone. Not even pausing, Mr. Smith lifted the aristocrat off the ground with one hand and hurled him through the air. Tom managed to dive to the ground to avoid the unexpected projectile, but the young guide wasn't as lucky and the two ended up crashing into a table behind them. The blond young man raised his head and met the innkeeper's amazingly calm eyes. The stout man's expression was so nonchalant; he seemed as if tossing customers bodily across the room was a common practice.

"The Master needs this," mumbled Mr. Smith, holding the jewel up. "And the strangers must die."

* * *

She looked so beautiful in the evening light; the red light of the setting sun reflecting off her auburn hair and matching her long scarf seemed so poetic and stunning. The only thing that could improve her impressive beauty was viewing her by clear moonlight. He couldn't deny her elegant appearance. Mina, a striking sight for this location and as deadly as she was attractive, made the quiet inquiries of the local people they were supposed to be asking. His own mind was more focused on the cruel irony of the situation. Nemo and his men had split into small groups to question the populace, but the vampire and doctor had ended up together and alone. Henry was with the one person he loved, but did not deserve.

If he was a better man, one worthy of someone as special as her, this would be the perfect opportunity to breach the subject of his feelings towards her. If he was a better man, one who was braver and bolder, he would admit that he had cared for her for some time and that he would do anything to make her happy. If he was a better man, a normal man without another presence lurking in his mind, he would offer to spend the rest of his life with her, regardless of how long that might be or what type of life it might be. But he wasn't that man. He was undeserving, weak-willed, and shared his body with a being that could be graciously-called "depraved". Henry knew this, accepted this, and could not change this. But it didn't change how he felt and being placed in such a perfect opportunity didn't seem fair. They should have sent Tom with her instead.

Thankfully, Edward was keeping his opinions to himself. His thoughts seemed to be on the intriguing story they read back on the Nautilus and only gave the doctor the occasional annoyed glare when Henry passed a reflective surface. The silence was greatly appreciated. He knew it wouldn't last, but the peace was nice while it did.

"Interesting…" murmured Mina.

"Sorry?"

She looked towards him and seemed to notice that he hadn't been paying attention to the questioning, "No one has seen or heard anything strange that could be connected to Charlotte, but there's something else that caught my attention. Everyone on the coast was nervous about some type of vague evil inland, but no one here seems to know anything about the rumor. Even in this small outpost, with little outside traffic, I would expect a whisper to make it here. Supplies would still be delivered to the store and gossip travels swiftly. But… _nothing_."

"That _is_ odd," Henry agreed. "But does a simple lack of rumors mean anything? This place _is_ isolated. Isn't it possible, Mrs. Harker, that no one has shared the tale here yet?"

"It is possible, but not likely. If the rumors were so well-spread among the people in Mombasa, even being repeated and feared by those who should be skeptical of such things, at least faint whispers should have made it here," she explained. "And I've asked you to please call me 'Mina' as our friends do, Henry."

Before he could apologize once more for his formality with her, an invisible hand grabbed his wrist. Judging by the vampire's expression, she was experiencing a similar sensation. It did not take a genius to determine the origin of the touch, but it did not stop the pair from being startled by the abruptness.

"Skinner, what…?" the doctor began, but the thief interrupted.

"Trouble. We've marched ourselves into a pretty little trap and they've hid the danger as treasure."

That frantic, hissed warning barely registered in Henry's mind before something crashed loudly in the inn. The sudden noise acted as a signal, it seemed, to the entire populace of the outpost. In seconds, chaos erupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some facts. On May 28, 1900, there was a solar eclipse visible from America. Other important astrological events of the time include a penumbral lunar eclipse June 13. 
> 
> And in case you haven't guessed, gemstones are rather important in this story. Very important. Since ancient times, certain types of stones have been assigned certain powers or traits they are supposed to promote. The amethyst is supposed to represent perfection, faithfulness, sincerity, and ensure a husband's love. An aquamarine represents courage, intelligence, and helps one to know other's thoughts. An opal, due to its iridescent appearance, is supposed to be a very powerful stone that causes change and can provide invisibility. A topaz is also supposed to cause invisibility, increased strength, and dispel enchantments. A citrine is supposed to attract wealth to the wearer. A garnet is said to represent constancy and true friendship. Onyx is said to cause nightmares and diminish love. A peridot, a stone that looks similar to emeralds, is supposed to dissolve enchantments, encourage sleep, and are said to seem to glow in the moonlight. Emeralds are supposed to increase intelligence, be used to predict the future, bring success in love, and even provide immortality. Rubies are said to create fire, give power and protection to the wearer, ward off evil spirits and bad dreams, and ensure devotion. And a sapphire is supposed to encourage loyalty, honesty, and faithfulness.
> 
> There are other gemstones with interesting attributes assigned to them, but those are the only ones I'm listing right now.


	9. Battle at the Outpost

There was something particularly unsettling about this small outpost. Nothing his eyes or ears could tell him, nothing physical that could be assessed and catalogued, but something deep warned him to be wary. Nemo was a man of high learning, one whose knowledge was sufficient to design a craft as majestic as the Nautilus and one whose wisdom was deep enough to know the world was not ready for more such vessels. He was certainly a man of science and discovery, someone who studied before a decision was reached. He was one who should rely solely on facts.

But he was also a man who had lived through and experienced much in his many years of life. While many events and wonders followed such logical and clear science, other depended on far more fragile threads of evidence. Faith, whether in a higher power or in something closer to man's grasp, was one such critical shaper of the world that could not be explained and yet men continued to cling. Where science fails, belief always seemed to shine and show the way. The captain had seen it happen repeatedly in his lifetime.

Another important and difficult to explain aspect of the world was when a man's instincts began to warn of him of danger before any of his senses should react. Nemo knew of countless occasions where a man might tense up, as if alerted to an unknown threat, before any sight, sound, or scent could be detected. Others might dodge or duck from a bullet or blade while their back was turned towards the enemy. And just as birds and beast may flee the land before disaster strikes, old men at sea can predict the coming storm long before any piece of scientific equipment.

That is what Nemo felt: a coming storm. A dark and violent threat loomed out of sight, but the danger was very real. He had no proof of this, but his instincts whispered to him to be alert. The darkening skies were too clear for a literal storm, which might be to his advantage. True storms are a force of nature, unyielding and unstoppable by mere mortals. Somethings are simply unchangeable. The primal forces that ruled the skies and the seas were one. Death was another. But if the danger he felt was something he could truly combat, he would meet the challenge.

His hand was resting firmly on his blade, his eyes searching across the collection of buildings and scattered inhabitants for a clue to the threat. His men, picking up on his unease, began to glance around warily as well. Nemo was no longer looking for hints of where to find Skinner's sister; he was hunting for whatever danger he could feel lurking out of sight.

The blacksmith, a strong and solidly-built man, waved slowly at the as he closed his shop for the night. He seemed uncertain of the small group of armed strangers, but was friendly enough of a person to offer a greeting. The fading light reflected off something around his wrist as he reached for another of his tools, this one a heavy hammer he lifted without effort. The man moved through his smithy with the same calm confidence that Nemo walked the halls of his Nautilus.

The hammer suddenly collided with the head of the crew member closest to Nemo, cracking the skull with a sickening crunch. The blacksmith, his face passive, swung it around towards the captain without even pausing. The speed and unexpected nature of the attack should have led to the end of the long and fascinating life of the man once called Prince Dakkar. But that warning instinct had proved correct and he was ready to react. Drawing his sword as he dove under the hammer swing, the ex-pirate shifted straight into battle. His remaining men, equally used to combat as their leader, were falling into a similar mindset. Unfortunately, the smith was not the only one to turn aggressive. Men and women poured out of the buildings and attacked the small group, all with the same calm expressions.

* * *

Tom had been in a few fights before he'd joined the League. Given the fact that his previous occupation was not necessarily considered a "safe" job, it was to be expected. He was not, however, that experienced at dealing with an incredibly strong, unnaturally calm man who threw people around like a child's toy doll. Especially one that _wasn't_ Hyde.

The blond American, after getting to his feet again, tried a simple and nonlethal solution to dealing with Mr. Smith. He grabbed the closest chair and swung it against the stout man with all the force he could manage. The chair broke into kindling and the man didn't even wince. Granted, the furniture was not the best quality. But a normal person would have at least noticed the impact. All that the innkeeper seemed to care about was taking the gemstone to his "master" and his more fatal goal for the young man. More drastic measures were needed.

"Put down the stone, Mr. Smith," Tom urged in a calm voice, wishing he hadn't left his gun in the room. He was slowly edging himself towards one of the smaller tables. "No one else has to get hurt."

"The strangers must die," the stout man repeated, slipping the jewel into his pocket and picking up one of the thicker fragments of the broken chair.

The innkeeper swung the make-shift club at the young man just as he grabbed the small table as a shield. The furniture survived the first impact and the second easily, keeping the American protected. For his third strike, Mr. Smith threw himself at the table surface. The solid hit produced an audible crack, but Tom's furniture-based shield held.

Hoping to catch the balding man off-balanced, the blond American tried to use his table as a battering ram. He slammed it into the innkeeper, but the man was as unmovable as a solid wall. The innkeeper wrapped his hands around the edges of the table and wrenched it out of Tom's grasp. The younger man felt a mild jolt of panic at how easily Mr. Smith disarmed him. The short individual's strength was as shocking as the idea of Henry wielding Edward's amount of physical power without drinking the elixir.

The innkeeper, using the American's table against him, swung the piece of furniture like a large and awkward club. His unusual strategy hit the younger man with the corner of the table and sent Tom tumbling to the ground, his left arm exploding with pain at the point of impact. He gritted his teeth, knowing there would be a rather impressive bruise there later, and forced himself to roll out of the way of Mr. Smith's next swing. The table crashed against the floor in the space he was just occupying a split-second before. The balding man tried again, slamming his furniture-based weapon against to the ground, just barely missing his target. This time, the table cracked and part of the wooden surface broke off. Tom struggled, his arm throbbing sharply, to increase the distance between him and the calm-looking attacker. Unarmed and on his own, the blond American knew he couldn't beat the stout man.

"Mr. Sawyer," called Rasul suddenly, finally recovered from being knocked down across the room.

When the innkeeper glanced around at the voice, the guide swung another (intact) chair at the older man's head. This time, at least, Mr. Smith stumbled backwards a step from the impact and shook his head slightly as if to clear it. Rasul took this momentary lapse to grab the American by his uninjured arm and started dragging him away from the balding man.

As they left the room, with Mr. Smith following after them and leaving the unconscious Ashmore behind, Tom realized he could hear the sounds of fighting outside the building in addition to the noisy combat he'd been preoccupied with indoors. The blond young man briefly debated between making a break for the room with his weapon to end the problem permanently or to continue towards the exit where his friends were undoubtedly in the middle of said fighting. Common sense dictated that he go for the gun. What he actually did was run towards the outside.

* * *

A woman, one Henry distinctively remembered as someone who greeted him kindly earlier, burst out of her house with an iron frying pan in her grip and a calm expression across her face. The woman, a rather pretty brunette, swung the kitchen implement through the air and just barely missed the doctor. Another, a girl still shy of marrying age, attacked with a pair of well-used kitchen knives. Henry stumbled to the ground while avoiding the sharp-edged instruments, one hand fumbling for a vial in his pocket.

The young girl's next slash halted prematurely as something unseen grasped one arm.

"Here now, no reason to cut up our doctor," Skinner's voice remarked from the empty air.

Unfazed by the invisible man, the knife-wielding girl ripped free of his hold and began to slash randomly in the direction of the voice.

"Hurry up, Henry," urged Edward, the image of his alter ego showing up briefly along the swing blade's edge.

A quick glance towards Mina demonstrated that she was disarming the frying pan-wielding woman of her cast iron tool. A man, using a longer knife, slipped forward and managed to slice a long cut across her face. As much as it angered Henry to see someone trying to harm her, he understood she was far tougher than she appeared. The slash swiftly healed before his eyes and she grabbed the man.

Whether or not she would have turned her attacker into a meal, the doctor would never know. Just as his fingers finally wrapped around the glass vial, he saw another man strike her hard. This time, however, she was hit in the head by a thick piece of firewood. The beautiful vampire fell, landing limply on the ground from the impact.

"Mina!" Henry screamed in horror, his alter ego echoing him within his mind.

He was a man of science, but he'd taken steps to familiarize himself with common folklore that could affect his fellow League member. Some traits did not seem to fit the woman, such as having to sleep in a coffin (not that he spent his time watching her sleep every night, regardless of Edward's repeated suggestions). But, since most stories seemed to end in using a wooden stake to kill the vampire and it was rare that any other weapon was shown to be effective, the doctor had postulated that somehow wood possessed some odd property that allowed it to do real harm to vampires. And some man _dared_ to harm her, to actually knock her to the ground, and he was still standing over her with the makeshift club… _No_.

The doctor gulped down the formula, knowing perfectly well that he was unleashing a furious and murderous monster upon the small outpost. And, for once, Henry couldn't care less. No one would get away with hitting Mina.

Grabbing his collar, he yanked it loose as his bones and muscles twisted and changed painfully. The transformations were never pleasant, but he had grown familiar with the agonizing process. Henry felt his consciousness slide back as Edward's personality surged forward. The doctor would be stuck observing events, but both he and his alter-ego were united in a single goal for once: keep them from his precious Mina.

* * *

Dodging a knife-wielding young woman, one who was a little younger than Charlotte, Skinner was stuck on the defense. She might not know exactly where he was, but her wide slashing arcs were making things dangerous. Some of her attempts could have easily removed some rather important body parts that he'd rather not lose. Still, he was able to keep on top of the situation and remain unharmed. And, as long as the crazed girl with the bracelet was after the hard-to-find invisible target, she wouldn't be slicing the doctor to ribbons before he could drink the elixir.

Skinner caught sight of the team vampire getting struck by a length of wood and, surprisingly, she went down hard. And, as soon as the woman hit the ground, a rather horrified and anguish-filled scream rang out.

"Mina!"

"Henry was not only using her less formal name, but he was looking furiously at her attacker. The doctor actually looked intimidating as he swallowed the vial of clear liquid. Apparently a threat to someone he clearly loved (but wouldn't admit it to) was all the man needed to turn Henry into a more strong-willed and determined person.

Of course, the bulging muscles and growing figure of Edward would always make a bigger impression. The large, hulking entity started heading straight towards Mina even while still changing. Skinner managed to feel a minor twinge of sympathy for anyone who got in the brute's path before another near miss yanked his attention back to his own violent attacker.

Spotting a discarded burlap sack, the thief slipped behind her next slash and grabbed the old feedbag. With a smirk that no one could actually see, he threw the thing over her head and shoulder. Blinded and hampered by the burlap sack, the young woman struggled to get free. Skinner used this moment to steal the knives out of her hands (which was harder than it should have been… she had a very strong grip) before shoving her to the ground. He tossed the kitchen utensils away so she couldn't immediately go back to stabbing.

"A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be playing with those anyway," he muttered.

Abruptly, Tom and their guide burst out of the inn. The owner of the building quickly followed after him, his face as blank as any of the other attackers. The invisible man ran towards them, intending to find out what happened to his favorite American to make him look so frantic.

Rasul almost stopped dead as he caught sight of Edward knocking away anyone who came too close to Mina. Guess he wasn't quite prepared for that unusual sight. He might have felt prepared to handle anything the League might throw at him, but it was hard to really be prepared for their real uniqueness. Well, it was time to mess with his world view some more.

"Tom, are you all right?" Skinner asked, as he neared the young man.

The guide flinched at the disembodied voice while the blond American called back, "Mr. Smith has the stone and wants to kill us. And he won't go down."

"Get to Hyde," urged the thief, noticing his friend was unarmed and thinking quickly. "Keep an eye on Mina."

The young man nodded and proceeded to follow the advice. Skinner waited for the stout innkeeper to near before grabbing a nearby piece of wood and throwing it in front of his feet. As he hoped, Mr. Smith tripped and fell to the ground.

A quick glance proved that he was also wearing a bracelet still. And since he took the gemstone, he probably was taking it to his "Master." Which certainly supported the thief's belief that the man who kidnapped his sister for the Delhi Purple Sapphire (which he shouldn't have right now) and the mysterious "Master" responsible for the creepy jewelry was the same person. If that was true, then this balding man was exactly what he needed.

* * *

A sharp and pounding headache awoke her. And anger with herself. She should have been able to avoid the strike to her head. Even more concerning was the fact such a thing managed to both knock her out and was still hurting her. But the sounds of fighting pushed her to get back up. Mina opened her eyes and stood up.

Part of the destructive sounds were immediately explained by the presence of Edward backhanding any of the calm-faced attackers that came within arm's reach. A quick look also revealed Nemo and most of his men were working their way through the members of the outpost. In addition, Tom and Rasul were now present. He was holding a broom handle, undoubtedly grabbed from one of the attackers and the guide was picking up a dropped hatchet.

These people were too strong. Unnaturally strong. She felt that strength before she was struck, when she was ripping that frying pan away. There was something unusual about these blank-faced individuals. The vampire decided to use a new strategy. A more ruthless one perhaps, but not quite as aggressive as she could be. She didn't need to lose what was left of her humanity.

She had a certain talent for sensing the presence of bats and for compelling them to her will. And now that dusk had truly fallen, she could feel a nearby colony of rather large ones. She called them to her, her eyes and face changing as she drew upon her more supernatural capabilities.

The air filling with flapping wings, Mina launched herself into the air. Mingling with the nocturnal creatures, she began to hurl the people across the outpost. They might be stronger and more durable than normal, but a vampire and colony of large bats was more than a match for them. When she sent them flying, they stayed exactly where they landed. Between her efforts and Edward's, the group of attacking citizens was shrinking swiftly. They were winning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick little comment. A really good writer for vampire stories is Fred Saberhagen. His book "The Dracula Tapes" tells the story of Bram Stoker's "Dracula" from the point of view of the vampire. He also wrote two stories where the infamous vampire met Sherlock Holmes. He had some very good ideas of how to make use of the traditional vampire rules. I highly suggest it.
> 
> And the bats Mina summoned? Those would be Straw-colored Fruit bats. They're native to the area, so they are an appropriate choice. They also travel in massive colonies of at least 100,000 and sometimes massing to 1 million. They get their name from the silky yellowish or straw color of their exterior, the color of the wings is black, and the back hair is pale and somewhat tawny. Males are generally bright orange, compared to the females which are usually silky yellowish. They have huge cheeks, eyes, and ears. The average weight of these bats is ranged from eight to twelve ounces and grows to 5.7 to 9 inches in length. It could have wings span up to 30 inches; though males are generally larger than females. Which should be more than enough to make an impression on someone.


	10. Down a Dark Tunnel

Casualties on both sides were far lower than they could have hoped. Most of the people tossed around by Edward and Mina should have been dead or at least seriously injured, but that turned out not to be the case. As soon as Henry reverted back to his normal self, he declared most of them to be merely knocked out. Beyond that, the majority of them were alive and well. And while Nemo had lost two of his men, most had only minor injuries.

Tom knew that only Henry would be equally concerned for their enemies' condition as their allies'. But he was a doctor, first and foremost. Honestly, the American would be more surprised if the man _wasn't_ looking over everyone while still wearing the shredded remains of his clothes. Of course, the first people to receive the doctor's attention were his companions. Henry patched up Nemo's men, examined Tom's arm where it had been struck earlier, and removed a number of wooden splinters from Mina's scalp. The doctor seemed to have more concern about the woman than such a superficial-seeming injury should provoke, but the vampire merely accepted the attention with a slight smile towards the man and remarked that her headache was fading now, so she would be perfectly fine.

"It simply does not make any sense," muttered Nemo, glancing at one of the unconscious villagers. The men and women had been moved out of the street by this point; Henry's insistence at treating them as patients under his care ensured this occurred. The population of the small outpost was now either resting against the wall of a building or on a porch. "Why did the entire village suddenly attack? And the strength they demonstrated was not natural."

"No, it certainly wasn't," the American agreed. "The innkeeper was too strong. And he wouldn't go down; I hit him with a chair and he didn't even flinch. No matter what I threw at him, he didn't even slow down. He took the stone from Ashmore and then tossed the man aside without even trying."

He shook his head, still not completely believing what he'd witnessed the stout man do. Tom had thought that he was done being stunned by unusual events. At least he was doing a little better than Rasul at dealing with the strange developments of the evening. Their native guide was now staring at Henry and Mina with an expression of reverence.

Trying to recall any useful pieces of information that he had not mentioned yet, the blond young man added, "He also mentioned something about a 'master.' Someone was behind this attack, organizing everything from out of sight."

"There was some type of power involved," Mina confirmed. "The behavior of these people wasn't normal. Nor their strength. It was as if they were in a trance, as if they were completely unaware of what they were doing. That would explain their calm and emotionless states. It seems that the rumors of some evil force here may have some substance." She paused a moment before continuing, "I know that some vampires have the ability to compel their victims to obey their commands, but there would be other… signs. There is some kind of supernatural power at work here, controlling and strengthening these men and women, but it is nothing I have encountered before."

Henry, standing up after examining his final patient, asked, "Skinner, you tried to warn Mrs. Harker and I about something right before the attack. What did you learn?"

Nothing but silence answered the man's question. Even knowing how futile it would be to _look_ for the invisible man, Tom still found himself making the attempt. The American glanced around his surroundings, frowning slightly.

"Skinner? Where _is_ he? I sa… I _heard_ him earlier," the American remarked. "Right after Mr. Smith…" Tom paused, realizing that someone else was missing. "Where's the innkeeper?"

* * *

Following the balding man as he walked further and further from the small outpost, and closer to the more mountainous area, was surprisingly easy. The innkeeper moved at a steady pace, moving easily and confidently over the increasingly rough terrain even as night truly fell. The stout individual did glance back fairly often, but even the light provided by the nearly-full moon would reveal nothing. Trying to watch out for someone following you is rather difficult when the one doing the tailing is invisible.

Skinner knew that he should have told someone where he was going. Actually, he probably should have tried keeping the innkeeper in the village. The logical plan would be to hold the man captive and to question him about the entire situation, but he didn't really even think about it before he acted. Besides, the thief refused to waste the time. From what he felt when he touched the bracelet, none of the villagers would betray their master. No, Mr. Smith would not willing reveal anything. The only way to gain answers would be to follow him to the source.

Yes, following the balding man would be the best way to find the person behind Charlotte's kidnapping. He still should have told the League. Part of being a team and everything. But he couldn't risk losing his only lead. He couldn't risk letting this one opportunity to find his sister slip through his fingers.

The invisible thief lost track of time as he quietly stalked after the innkeeper, but he would guess that it would be over a few hours. Without the blazing sun beating down on a black leather coat, traveling was far easier. The cool night air and the absence of the heavy article of clothing gave Skinner far more energy. He could likely walk half the night if he needed to.

Happily, it didn't appear that he would have to travel that long. The stout individual was slowing down finally and looking around more frequently. By now, they were close enough to the mountains for numerous rock outcrops and freestanding boulders to start popping up. It made the footing a little more difficult, but Skinner had been running across cobblestone and even rooftops for years. He could handle the tougher terrain. At least, he could until Mr. Smith reached his destination.

When Skinner moved around a large boulder, following the balding man, the thief realized that he'd found his goal. Tucked between two huge stones was a dark gap that seemed to go back and down to some unknown location underground. The innkeeper was already vanishing down the passageway.

Smirking to himself, even if the expression would be invisible even if anyone was present to view it, Skinner quietly commented, "Well, _this_ certainly doesn't seem ominous at all. Following the strange man with the creepy bracelet down the dark hole…" Dropping the sarcasm for the moment, the thief started forward again, "This should certainly be interesting."

* * *

A quick search of the outpost demonstrated that, as suspected, the innkeeper was nowhere to be found. Confirming that the invisible thief was missing was more difficult for obvious reasons, but it didn't take long for Rasul to find a pair of fresh footprints near the edge of the outpost. Even if one set wasn't barefoot, it was easy to guess what had transpired. Mr. Smith had left with the Delhi Purple Sapphire and Skinner had followed. Which meant the League would have to track them down.

Before they left, Nemo had his men gather torches and fresh supplies, including ammunition. He may not prefer to use firearms, but he did not require others to follow his example in this particular aspect. Dangerous animals lurked in the darkness, as did dangerous men. They needed to be prepared.

Even if Mina would not be hampered by the night and the moon offering at least some pale illumination, most men carried a torch. The light might reveal their location to anyone who might be watching, but Rasul needed to see if he was supposed to track their quarry and it would be helpful in order to discourage predators from approaching. Even if the flickering flames would destroy their night vision, the benefits outweighed the cost. And they needed any help possible to locate their missing teammate swiftly.

Nemo understood Skinner's actions, even if the thief was making their job more difficult. Family, and the threat of losing it, was a strong motivation for a man to act rather impulsively. The captain could remember times in his past, when he was a different person and lived a very different life than he did today, that his own decisions were based on pride, righteous fury, and a strong drive to fight to protect while logic would be tossed to the wayside. While Nemo still possessed the same impulses as in the past, his ability to retain a cool head and think through his choices before taking action had improved. In addition, unlike the older man, it seemed quite possible that Skinner never needed to think of his role within a group before he joined the League. From his understanding, his life as a thief rarely demanded that he work with others to accomplish a task. If the invisible individual had more experience thinking as a solitary entity instead of a team member, it only made sense that Skinner might instinctively react with that particular mindset.

Change is always difficult to accept and adapting takes time. And the longer a particular mindset remains in place, the harder it is to alter. But the world and circumstances keeps shifting and moving in new directions. You may resist that change, try to hide away and live in the past, or you could embrace the changes as they come. Skinner was facing an aspect of his past, one he'd not dealt with in years, but he was forgetting that he was no longer a solo thief and needed to adapt to his new life on a team.

* * *

The first hundreds steps cut into the rock moved down through complete darkness. The tunnel made him nervous; it was too dark to see anyone approaching and the passageway was too narrow to get out of the way if someone did appear. Invisibility was not that helpful if people just bumped into you.

It took a few moments to notice, but the narrow tunnel actually curved slightly as Skinner progressed further down. He couldn't see the innkeeper in the darkness, but he could hear his heavy footsteps ahead of the thief as they traveled further down. Hopefully he would be able to tell if the stout individual stopped abruptly. It wouldn't help Charlotte if he came all this way only to be caught by a silly mistake like bumping into his unaware guide. Also, it would be highly embarrassing to be discovered in that manner.

The slope of the passageway was gradually leveling out as he traveled. The tunnel was also beginning to widen. Within a short distance, the stone passage went from being so narrow that only one person could proceed at a time to a space that felt more like it could easily hold three people shoulder to shoulder. Of course, it was only when Skinner was observing the changes to his subterranean pathway that he realized there was now a weak light source somewhere ahead that was lessening the gloom. He could actually make out Mr. Smith's stout figure ahead.

A sharp left turn brought the light source, around four oil lamps, into view. It also revealed problems. The passageway opened up into a large cavernous space, one that stretched upwards until shadows began to obscure the ceiling and offered enough room to house a whole fleet of Nemo's automobiles quite comfortably if the chamber was empty. The underground room, however, was filled with several large crates and long wooden tables where several dozen native people were sitting, attaching different colored stones to a variety of metal settings. Further away were a number of men from a variety of backgrounds, if Skinner had to guess by their general appearance and accents, who were gambling. He could pick out American, French, and at least a couple of British accents as they muttered among themselves. Those individuals, watching each other and the small pile of money carefully, were also armed. Each person the invisible thief saw was wearing a bracelet.

Momentarily distracted by the activity in the room, Skinner almost lost sight of the innkeeper. The stout man was crossing the chamber and heading for one of several tunnel entrances located near the armed men. The invisible thief followed as quickly and quietly as he could. As long as he didn't do anything foolish, no one in the room would notice his presence. Getting out with his sister, on the other hand, could be… problematic.

The new tunnel was not as narrow or as dark as the first one. Oil lamps rested in cozy little niches at regular intervals, offering plenty of illumination for the thief. Unlike the tunnel to the entrance, other passages branched off at different points. He could very likely become lost quickly if he began wandering around randomly, especially if the tunnels continued to intersect and branch off. He might have to risk the labyrinth-potential passageways if Mr. Smith didn't take him to Charlotte directly. But he would follow a little further before he began searching blindly.

A right turn into a particularly ornate archway, covered in twisting images that seemed to move due to the shadows cast by the oil lamps, brought both Skinner and the stout man into another chamber. This one was smaller than the previous room and more personal. Rather than the sparse and cheap furniture in a space intended for the common use of numerous men, an elegant couch and shelves packed with old books rested on a decorative rug in what was clearly a chamber for a single individual of importance. In fact, it was similar in design to a study you might find in a house in London. The only difference between the two locations would be the heavy red velvet curtains and bare stone walls instead of detailed wallpaper. The desk at the far side of the room, carved from some type of dark wood, completed the imaged of an aristocratic study.

But it was the man behind the desk that Skinner focused his attention on, sizing the individual up. A book rested in front of him, along with a handful of small gemstones and a rolled-up leather bundle, which the individual had likely been occupied with prior to Mr. Smith's arrival. Now he was staring at the stout man, his green eyes unwavering as the innkeeper bowed. The blond stranger wore plain, though well-made, clothes that would not look out of place on a member of Britain or America and would fit in on nearly any level of society. He certainly had enough precious stones on his person in the forms of rings, bracelets, and necklaces to suggest a wealthy background. It probably would even be considered a little over zealous to wear so much jewelry. The tan and mild weathering on the thirty-something year old and the sturdy muscle mass on his form suggested to the thief that, at least at some point in the man's past, he worked for a living at some type of manual labor however. It also suggested that, if he was forced to fight the man directly, Skinner would find his opponent to be both strong and difficult in a straight confrontation. Happily, facing a foe head on was never the invisible man's style.

"Speak," the sitting individual commanded. "What news do you bring?"

His voice was deep, clear, and certainly British. Mostly, it was proper and as perfect as the speech pattern for a member of the upper class. But the longer he spoke, the more Skinner could hear the faint hints of the East Side creeping in. But only because he was looking for it due to the man's physical appearance.

"Master," responded Mr. Smith, bowing to him again. "I have brought it. The stone you were seeking."

"Show it to me."

Obeying instantly, the stout man reached into his pocket and pulled out the jewel. This was Skinner's first opportunity to view the gem, but he wasn't disappointed by what he saw. The Delhi Purple Sapphire was a striking color, approximately the size of an eyeball, and certainly worth quite a bit of money. If the thief could manage to snag the thing after he rescued his sister, it would be both an effective revenge against the man who dared to kidnap Charlotte and a nice little trinket for himself.

The blond-haired "Master" took the gem and studied the colored stone with a rather unnerving smile. He held it possessively, turning it at different angles so the oil lamps would reflect across the surface in different ways. Apparently satisfied by what he saw, the man set the jewel on the desk.

"And the ones who brought the stone?" the green-eyed man asked. "Were they dealt with appropriately?"

Mr. Smith bowed his head slightly, "There were two groups of strangers who arrived in the outpost. Their numbers were larger than expected. Rather than risk losing your treasure, I left before their demise was certain. Several members were abnormally effective at defending themselves. Some may have lived. I am sorry, Master."

His expression darkened momentarily, "Were you followed?"

"No, Master," he shook his head. "I saw no one after I left the outpost."

Slowly, he reverted back to a small smile, "Then there is no need to be concerned. Even if they manage to survive my servants, they will not find this place. If they try, the… _guards_ will catch them before they come close."

"Of course, Master. What do you wish of me?"

He waved his hand dismissively, "Return to your home, but take a different path. There is no need to tempt fate by making it too easy to locate this place." He briefly touched a small blue gem, a sapphire, on one of his rings before commanding, "Once the sun rises, you shall resume your nomal life and think no more of these things. If I have need of any of you or your services, I will summon you." He moved his hand from the ring and added, "Go."

"Yes, Master," responded the innkeeper, turning around.

The stout man proceeded towards the exit, forcing the invisible thief to silently move out of his path. At no point did Mr. Smith's calm expression shift. Skinner watched the innkeeper walk out of sight.

The remaining individual, "Master," sat still for a few moments admiring the gem. It was a little creepy. There was a rather unnerving gleam in his eyes, one that reminded the thief of a few less savory people who used to hide in the darkness of London. It was the look of a human predator. This was not a person to let his guard down around. This was the type of person who could and _would_ kill a man for a couple of pence.

"I may not have been in time for the solar eclipse, but you are here in time for the lunar one," he commented quietly, apparently addressing the jewel in his hand. "You have far too much potential to waste on a lesser event. Far too much for a lesser 'gift' either. Only the best for my greatest treasure." The blond-haired man smiled to himself, "I suppose I should check on the little lamb now that the guest of honor is here. I don't want the 'gift' to be ruined before the ceremony tomorrow night and you know how delicate those English ladies are supposed to be."

While his tone was setting Skinner's teeth on edge, the thief could recognize a reference to his sister when he heard it. The "Master" was going to see her. This was exactly what the invisible man needed to find Charlotte. And, as long as the blond man didn't call her "little lamb" or "gift" with that particular inflection, Skinner might be able to follow him without strangling the "Master."


	11. Behind Iron Bars

She stared at the bars of her cell, the metal shapes just as impenetrable as they were when she arrived. Quietly, she hummed to herself. The auburn-haired young lady had no idea if it was day or night. Time was practically meaningless in this dark place beyond the delivery of food or oil for the lamp and she could see now that even clinging to hope of ever seeing the light of day again was pointless. She would never be free. She couldn't escape and no one was coming to save her. Her fiancée, her father, and the greatest men of the Empire were just as unlikely to find her as her long-dead brother. There was no hope, but Charlotte still hummed familiar songs to keep sorrow and fear at bay. She didn't want to think about what her fate might be since she would never leave this place.

The quiet notes of her favorite tune died away abruptly as the door opened and a blond stranger stepped into the room. He didn't immediately close the door behind him. He merely stood there, his hand still on the thick barrier as he stared at her. She stared back in surprise, not quite believing that there was a new face on the other side of the bars. For a second, the young lady even felt a flicker of optimism that he might be a rescuer of some sort. Apparently she hadn't lost all hope yet. But, once he gave her an amused grin, she realized he was yet another of her captors. But he wasn't like the others. There was a confidence about him that suggested he was used to power.

Trying to summon up her courage, the young lady remarked calmly, "I do not believe we have been acquainted properly. Might I inquire your name and what my purpose is here? Or shall I continue to think of you as this 'Master' person and remain ignorant?"

He gave a slight chuckle, "Clever little lamb. How did you know that I was the 'Master'?"

"You already seem more intelligent than anyone else I have seen here," she replied coolly. Then, adopting Rodney's behavior accidentally again, she added, "Though, considering the other two I met, that does not truly say much."

"I see he was right about you having a little spirit. Perhaps you aren't as delicate as the rest of those English ladies," the blond man commented. "I like that. It is so difficult to find a decent conversation out here." He paused a moment, apparently considering an idea, before he stated, "I'll answer your questions. A proper audience is so rare, after all."

Closing the door finally, the man leaned against the wall and looked at the rings on his fingers with a slight smile. It wasn't a comforting sight, but it was better than the expression of the last man to speak to her. This individual seemed more interested in the gemstones he was wearing than the trapped young lady.

"My purpose for having you here began years ago," he confided. "When I discovered my path to power. A hand-written journal and a small package, hidden beneath the foundation of an old and crumbling building, came into my possession and I learned the secret potential of gems. I learned of how certain jewels have always been known to have special properties and how to bring them forth. How to spark their natural magic."

"What are you talking about?" asked Charlotte, confused by his words. "What do you mean 'magic'?"

He pointed a finger at her, "You are a child of this modern era. A time of enlightenment and knowledgeable men who scoff at old superstitions. The world is now viewed through science and careful observation of natural events. But these people forget and ignore the less-easily explained powers of the past. They forget about the days when they used to accuse strange individuals of their community of witchcraft and killed them for those supposed crimes. They forget that, sometimes, they would actually find such a person with true power. Man once wielded strange forces and there are dark entities even in these modern days that science can never understand."

"You're mad," she accused softly, shaking her head at his strange rambling. She was imprisoned by a mad man who believed in magic like a child might. "What do these flights of fancy have to do with me?"

"I can't blame you for being skeptical. Before I discovered the truth, I would have been equally suspicious. But I was merely Jacob Morris, another common man barely scraping out an existence in London. Once I learned the secrets of that book that began to change."

He gestured towards a specific ring on his right pinky finger. The gemstone gleamed in the limited light of the tiny oil lamp.

"My first attempt was with this lovely citrine. I saved my earnings until I could afford the smallest stone," he explained, sounding rather proud. "It took time, but the cost was worth it. Once the potential of the gem was activated, it began to attract wealth to me. Soon I could afford more and more jewels. Each one held their own special properties and strength that I could make use of. That's when my life began to change. With the right stones, I could rule the minds of men and eventually take my rightful place in a position of power," he described, a fanatic gleam in his eyes making her take a step back. "But my collection was not yet complete. I learned of a jewel, a very special one that was already displaying hints of tremendous power, that had come into the possession of your fiancée." Pulling a purple stone from his pocket, the man smiled, "The Delhi Purple Sapphire."

Ignoring the stranger aspects of his rambling, the young lady focused on the key aspect that offered a hint of hope. Gaining a weak grin of her own, Charlotte gestured at the jewel.

"So I am being held for ransom and you have received your payment. Surely that means you will release me now, correct? My presence here will serve no further purpose."

"Perhaps I would have left you alone if your father and fiancée had not been so late with delivery," sighed the blond man, shaking his head tragically. "I contacted him before I had my followers invite you to be our guest. I wanted this precious gem before the solar eclipse. That would have been best and, if that warning had been heeded, you would still be sitting in your lovely little house. Even if he'd responded as soon as you disappeared, there would still have been time. But he wasted too much time bringing this treasure. I don't have time to find a proper 'gift' and, honestly, I think that ignoring my instructions for so long means that the men in your life deserve a little punishment. They just don't seem to treasure their little lamb."

"My father cares for me," Charlotte asserted, though it sounded a little weak to her ears. Her father knew of this man's intentions to kidnap her? And he did nothing to warn her? Continuing, she also declared, "And I am certain that the Honorable Mr. Ashmore is quite anxious about my safety."

"If you say so," he shrugged. "But you aren't asking the right questions. I was so hoping that your company would be more interesting."

She frowned at the implication that she was dull. Then, the young lady frowned at the idea that she was upset at the thought of boring her captor. All those lessons on how to be a good hostess were trying to assert themselves, even if the situation did not call for such behavior. Instead, she drew upon her deceased sibling's memory again and gave a slight smirk.

"How terribly rude of me. I suppose my mind was too distracted by these lovely surroundings. Perhaps if we retire to the parlor, I might be able to focus and ask you the right questions, Mr. Morris," she remarked in an increasingly strong voice, an unlady-like amount of sarcasm dripping into her words. "I would not wish to bore such a kind host after all. Perhaps I should have brought a gift to thank you for your hospitality."

Rather than becoming disturbed or scandalized by her tone and words, the blond man calmly turned the purple gemstone in his hands and took a step closer to the bars of her cage. He gave her another smile. This one sent a chill down her spine.

"Don't worry about the gift, little lamb. One has already arrived," he assured. "But the question you should be asking is a rather obvious one. Are you not curious about how I bring out the power of the gems? I would think that such an important aspect of my tale would capture your interest. While all rubies have the potential to provide strength and sapphires have the potential to produce honesty and loyalty, not every stone demonstrates that power easily. Otherwise jewelers would rule the Empire. The Delhi Purple Sapphire is the exception, already displaying its secrets." He smiled at the stone in his hand momentarily before finishing, "No, the secret to unlock that magic was hidden in the book I found."

"And what would be that secret?"

He chuckled, "That would be the right question. All power comes with a price. In order to gain the gifts that the treasured gems might offer, a gift must be provided first. At a time of great importance, such as an eclipse, a solstice, an equinox, or even a simple full moon, the cost must be paid. The greater the gift offered and the more important the astrological event, the greater the power that will be unlocked from the stone. That's why I wanted the jewel before the solar eclipse. The power would have been immense."

She stared at the strange mad man. Charlotte began to realize that the good nature and cheer he'd been displaying was just as predatory as his follower's remarks had been. His conversation was merely a chance to toy with her, just as a cat would play with a mouse a little before the final pounce. She could also see that he wanted her to ask one last question. Part of her wanted to remain silent and leave the discussion alone. The rest of her knew that, if she didn't ask, he would still tell her anyway.

"What kind of gift?" she asked, watching him uneasily.

Taking another step closer to the bars of the cell, he explained, "A special gift. Just like the astrological events, there are certain gifts that cause more potent results. At first, I only felt comfortable using plants since I was nervous about what forces I might be calling upon. Eventually I tried fish, freshly caught and still flopping around. That worked better, so I continued."

He leaned forward, all amusement vanishing from his face. The auburn-haired girl felt that the metal bars was not quite enough protection between the two of them. He was adopting a more serious and professional demeanor. One that made her feel almost as frightened as the leering look that the man who first spoke to her in this place. There was something in his words and tone that made her dread where his explanation was headed.

Calmly and coolly, he described, "In order to spark the power of the stones, I followed the procedure in the book in order to sacrifice a life. That is how you unlock the magic. You give the gem the gift of another's life. Plants work, albeit weakly. They are burned in a fire, the ash mixed with water, and gem is submerged into the liquid. But that is far less effective than the proper method. Animals work better; their hearts cut out and the stone is dipped in the blood squeezed from the organ."

As Charlotte gasped in horror at the implications and why he insisted on keeping her present, he continued to turn the purple stone in his hands. The light glittered off the surface. The mad man stared at the object reverently.

No longer even pretending to be interested in her, he commented, "Fish were better than plants. Ripping out their tiny hearts did not provide much liquid, but it was enough. But other animals worked even better, allowing me to gain more powerful gemstones. Rats, so plentiful in London, proved to be a reasonable gift. Cats and dogs worked even better. Then I tried livestock. By this point, I had enough wealth and followers that I could afford such creatures. I had a preference for," he paused a moment to touch the bars of the cage gently, "sweet little lambs. They provided rather powerful jewels, giving me greater control and capabilities. I started sending some of my more loyal followers, wearing one of my special sapphire bracelets, to search for a new site to build my forces and collect my treasures. Perhaps this place would not have been what I originally envisioned, but it is ideal for my needs. I don't know if they were used by someone in the past, but it was almost like these tunnels were specifically built for me. Regardless, I continued to search for the perfect gems and for the perfect gifts as they scoured the globe. I eventually realized that, in order to unlock the greatest potential, I would have to kill the most valuable form of life."

He held up the amulet of one of his necklaces, a simple thing with a light green jewel. It almost seemed to glow in the weak light.

"The first man was a homeless drunk. He was known to have a rather disreputable past. That death unlocked more power in this peridot than I could have imagined," the blond individual stated. "It can now induce sleep in anyone I chose within range." He held up another necklace, this one with a rather odd stone that didn't glitter as much. "A poor merchant, with a habit of spending more time with street walkers than his wife, traveled down a certain alley that I was waiting for him in. This bloodstone can open doors and break bonds." He gestured at one of his bracelets, "A rather friendly woman on the East Side, raising her child alone by engaging in a little bit of crime because she loved her son. This ruby now offers greater protection and power than those my followers wear."

Charlotte brought her hand up to her mouth, horrified by the casualness that he was describing such murders. He acted as if slaughtering people was nothing that should create concern. This mad man, this murderer, thought rocks were magic and would dip them in human blood. It was too awful to imagine. What kind of person could do such a thing?

"I quickly realized that more valued and more innocent deaths were even greater gifts for my treasures," he explained, holding up a black stone dangling around his neck. "So I needed younger gifts, those who were still uncorrupted and pure. A young pickpocket produced this onyx that can now cause powerful nightmares at my command." He pointed towards another ring, this one on his left hand, "Of course, I continued to collect gifts even after I left the fertile hunting grounds of London. A young chief's daughter, snatched during the night by my more unique followers, gave this topaz power. Now it can…"

"Monster," Charlotte finally snapped, interrupting his description of his crimes. "How can you live with yourself?"

He gave her a condescending smile, "I am merely taking my rightful place, little lamb." Each time he called her that, she felt even more uncomfortable. "Those with power belong at the top. Those below them do not matter and culling off the unnecessary elements is not that great a crime. Especially since the deaths fuel my power. It is not like their lives are wasted. That should be a comfort to you."

"What?"

"The delicate English lady, kept protected and pure until their wedding day, are highly valued and treasured. Certainly they are held in higher esteem than the average urchin running through the streets. The baron's daughter, as innocent and uncorrupted as a child, should make a lovely gift for such a beautiful gem," he described, holding up the Delhi Purple Sapphire once more. "And there is a lunar eclipse tomorrow night. Not a complete eclipse, but it should be enough." He turned around and headed towards the door, commenting boredly, "I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay, Miss Talbot. I have to prepare for tomorrow, but I shall see you again soon. Good night, little lamb."

As soon as the door closed behind the man, Charlotte collapsed to her knees. Even the dread of never escaping could not compare to the concrete knowledge of her coming demise at the hands of a mad man. He intended to carve her heart out of her chest because of some strange belief in magic. The young lady was shaking at the thought, a few tears rolling down her cheek. Part of her wished that it was mere a nightmare, that she'd gone mad and the entire conversation was a hallucination. She didn't want to admit she was destined for a violent and painful death.

"Mad as a hatter, that one," a voice abruptly growled, startling her.

Her eyes scanning the small room for the hidden speaker, she whispered timidly, "Who's there?"

"Easy now, it ain't that gent or his chaps again," the voice assured. Whoever it was sounded angry with the blond man, even if he seemed to be trying to control it. He also lacked the proper speech pattern to be in the upper class. Her father always warned her against speaking with commoners, but she felt more willing to trust someone obviously upset with Mr. Morris. "I ain't involved with that fellow. Quite the opposite. I'm here to help you."

"But where are you?" she asked, unable to determine where such a person might hide in the empty space.

"In front of your face," the disembodied voice replied. "I'm just a tad hard to spot."

Almost helplessly, she glanced around the dimly-lit space in an attempt to see the speaker. She needed to see him, to know that there was a real person in the room. But there was no one there.

"It finally happened," she muttered to herself, holding her head with her hands. "I've been here alone so long that I've lost my mind. I've gone mad and I'm hearing voices."

There was a small chuckle before he commented, "Miss Charlotte Talbot is many things, but mad ain't one of them. You don't see me because no one can see me. One of the side effects of invisibility I'm afraid."

She frowned slightly, the faintest recollection of a piece of gossip flickering through the young lady's mind. A brilliant, yet dodgy scientist was supposed to have devised a method to achieve invisibility. He became a dangerous criminal that used his transparent nature to elude the man-hunt. He was eventually stopped when he was dead, ending the dread of being attacked by an unseen person some of the more gossip-prone girls had whispered about to terrify their peers.

"So I am supposed to believe that a dead scientist is speaking to me?"

"Course not. That Griffin fellow was completely out of his mind by the end. Apparently muttering about reigns of terror and planning to take over everything cause of his invisibility. Power corrupts and all that. Like that Morris fellow. Driven completely mad by power and can't deal with it. Probably a bit mad before that point even," he explained. Something about the unseen person's words left her feeling a little more comfortable and amused. "Thinking you can get away anything makes some chaps feel invincible. Being see-through can drive a man out of his head since it is a tad hard at times. No one noticing you, isolated from the world, and what not. Happily, I'm a rather well-adjusted invisible man."

"So, if you are not Griffin, who are you?" she asked. "How did you become invisible?"

"Stole the formula," he answered easily. "As to who I am, that's even simpler. I'm the one here to free you."

For a moment, Charlotte didn't know how to respond. The idea that someone was actually present to rescue her seemed too good to be true. Combined with the fact she couldn't see him, it did not quite alleviate her concerns about her sanity.

"Truly," she whispered, not quite willing to hope.

"I ain't going to let that mad man hurt you, Lo… Charlotte," he stated, sounding slightly more serious. "I even have some help."

"More invisible people."

She could almost hear the smirk in his voice, "No. Got to protect the franchise. They're a good bunch of freaky darlings, though." In a mildly more tense tone, he explained, "Your _father_ asked us to find you."

The idea that her parent had come through for her made the young lady smile a little, "So you are going to let me out now?"

"Not yet. I have to get help. Can't sneak you past everyone and I can't knock them all out unless I get the rest of the League. I'm just doing a bit of recon first," he admitted. "But you'll be out before you know it. Certainly before that eclipse. Promise."

Charlotte wanted to beg the invisible man to release her. She'd been here too long and she just wanted to go home. The young lady didn't plead for her freedom, though. If he truly existed, asking him to take too many risks now instead of waiting a little while for more help to arrive would be foolish. And if he was merely the product of her lonely mind, begging a hallucination would be pointless.

Taking a calming breath, she asked, "Please, give me a sign that you are real. Prove that this is not just in my head. I want to believe that someone is actually here to help me, but it seems too impossible."

There was a moment of silence before the voice instructed, "Put your hand through the bars. If this don't prove you ain't mad, nothing will."

Hesitating briefly, the young lady stood up and stepped closer to the bars again. Slowly, she slid her arm out of her cell. She didn't know what to expect, so she gave a slight squeak of surprise when _something_ clasped her hand gently.

"Easy, it's only me," the invisible man assured, his voice much closer than before. "Don't think hallucinations can touch people, right? I'm just as real as you. Just a tad harder to spot."

Cautiously, she reached out with her other hand and touched the translucent object in her grip. She couldn't see anything, but she could feel a hand. She could feel individual fingers and knuckles. Following the un-seeable shape, she could feel the wrist that connected to an arm. Closing her eyes, it was easier to recognize what she was touching. There were a few strange spots that, after a little contemplation, reminded her of the scar burns that their cook seemed to collect due to clumsiness. These marks were larger than what the cook had, but the fact she could feel these imperfections mean it wasn't her imagination. Her mind would not craft an invisible rescuer so detailed that she would give him burn scars. The man, though invisible, truly existed.

"You're real," she smiled, feeling relieved. "Someone actually came."

Letting go of her hand, he responded, "Course someone came. I'll be back as soon as I can. You going to be all right until then?"

"Since you promised to come back," Charlotte stated bravely, "I'll be fine."

She sat in silence for a few moments, staring out of her cell with more hope than she'd possessed in almost a week. Then, the door out of the room began to slowly open.

Realizing that he was leaving, she called, "Wait. You didn't tell me your name."

There was no immediate response. For a moment, she wondered if he'd already left and merely left the door open.

Then, she heard soft sigh and he quietly answered, "Skinner. You can call me 'Skinner'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter ended up being entirely told from Charlotte's viewpoint. But I think it worked fairly well. I may have drawn a little too much inspiration for the "Master," Jacob Morris' standard operating procedure from the dark recesses of my mind. And maybe a little from "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom". My brain can be a scary place. But it definitely makes him a really creepy individual. Human sacrifice in order to achieve special powers generally make you a rather unpleasant person.
> 
> And since the lunar eclipse, as mentioned previously, would be a penumbral one on June 13, you can determine the current date fairly easily. It was an actual event, just like the solar eclipse on May 28. In addition, any of the capabilities that were mentioned for a specific gemstone are actual traits that were associated with the stones at some point.


	12. The Great White Hunter

It had taken every shred of restraint to remain silent and not strangle the blond man as he spoke to Charlotte, but somehow the thief had managed. Killing the man would have made it far more difficult to escape, with or without the auburn-haired girl. His sister certainly had changed since he last saw her, but that was to be expected since she was not a four year old child anymore. Her hair had darkened in color and she'd grown into a lovely young lady. She'd likely be even prettier if she wasn't locked in a dark cage underground, her hair matted, and her green dress wrinkled from being worn for so long. Still, Skinner was happy to see her again.

What he wasn't happy about was watching the "Master," Jacob Morris, toy with the girl while outlining his entire murderous life to her. It might be helpful to the League to know his plans and what some of his gems were capable of doing, but Charlotte didn't deserve to hear about his intentions to carve out her heart. Not that the invisible man intended to let that happen, but he hated seeing Lottie so scared.

At least she had the courage to not break down until the mad man left the room. He was glad his younger sister was still that strong and Lord Talbot hadn't completely forced her into becoming a fragile upper-class lady. He didn't want to find her with her spirit broken. The only thing worse would be not to find her at all.

It _was_ a little concerning that she'd been so certain of her madness, but he'd received similar responses in the past. A voice that came from an unknown source tended to unnerve people. Skinner had been called a hallucination, a ghost, or even the Devil by particularly superstitious or drunk individuals. It wasn't like going mad after being trapped and alone was an unbelievable theory. She'd been rather happy to learn he was real and to reassure herself of her sanity. The fact she'd smiled at him left the thief feeling more relieved than he'd felt in a long time. He didn't want to leave.

Leaving his sister, the one member of his family that didn't betray him, was far harder than it should have been. Logically, it was a good idea. Regardless of his skills at sneaking past people, there was no possible way he could smuggle Charlotte out without the girl being spotted. He couldn't risk it. He needed the League to help him. But leaving Lottie alone in her dark prison with the knowledge that her captor intended to kill her was painfully difficult for him. Only the fact that this Morris person wouldn't harm her until the proper moment gave Skinner the resolve to slip out that door.

He didn't, however, dare to tell her who he was. Or at least, who he used to be. Part of him wanted to let Lottie know that he was her sibling. It would have been nice, but he couldn't do such a thing to her. Especially not now. Her life was too chaotic and disrupted currently; he couldn't disturb it further by revealing that his supposed death years ago was a lie by her father. She already had enough doubts about her sanity without making her believe that she was being haunted by her dead brother. She'd moved on with her life and it wasn't as if he would ever get to be a part of it again. It would be simpler if she never found out that he was anything more than her invisible rescuer. She didn't need to be confused with knowledge of her thieving brother's continued survival.

With that choice decided, he quickly and quietly worked his way back out of the tunnel system towards the surface. He easily moved past the various followers without alerting them to his presence As soon as he made it back to the open air, he took a deep breath and tried to recall the direction of the outpost. The oil lamps had temporarily destroyed his night vision, but that would pass. From his estimates of how long he was gone, the invisible man would guess that dawn should be no more than an hour or so away. Regardless, he needed to get moving. He had a limited amount of time to locate the League and devise a method to save Charlotte.

Walking down the incline was easier than walking up it had been, so the invisible man felt that he was making good progress even over rougher terrain. Skinner definitely felt this was infinitely more pleasant than following the stout man to the hidden location. He didn't have to stalk a balding individual, so there was unquestionably an improvement to his surroundings. So he continued his march across the landscape, enjoying the fact things were going his way at the moment.

Abruptly, he paused. Ahead of him was distant hint of a faint glowing set of lights that he guessed to be torches. But the sight of those lights, quite possibly his friends, wasn't what made him stop. There was something wrong; he could feel it. There was something dangerous prowling around. He didn't see it, but he knew it just as surely as he knew when the more dangerous thieves that prefer to search for trinkets on a dead body were on the hunt back in London. Sometimes you have to trust your instincts.

Skinner tried to silently reassure himself that, because he was invisible, he was safe. No one could see him, so no one could attack him. As long as he was quiet, no one would notice him. Avoiding detection was his best defense in a dangerous situation. Whatever the problem might be, he could stay out of it if he stayed still and silent.

Then, he heard this strange soft grunt-like laughing sound. At least, Skinner might call it a laugh if he was rather loose with the term. It was certainly not anything produced by a human throat. It was a primal and dangerous sound, one that was quickly closing in from behind the invisible man. And the fact it was not likely from a human source meant it might be able to find him without sight. If the origin of the unnerving laughter would not be hindered by his transparent nature, then there was only one other option for him.

The thief ran.

* * *

After following the trail all night, Tom had gained both a great deal of respect for Rasul's tracking abilities and an increasing aggravation at Skinner's impatience. The fact that their guide could find signs on the increasingly rocky surface with only the torch light to help him was beyond impressive. Somehow he rarely lost the trail for long without finding at least a hint of the right direction. But none of this would even be necessary if the invisible thief hadn't gone off on his own or at least told someone what he was up to. Instead, the man had vanished into the night with no form of backup.

At least Tom usually tried to have someone with him when he went looking for danger in the past. Granted, that used to be Huck and they tended to get into twice as much trouble together than they did apart, but that wasn't the point. The invisible man of the team still should have let them know what he was planning. Only the fact that he knew the thief was worried about his sister kept Tom from feeling even more frustrated.

At least tracking should be easier soon. The darkness was slowly giving way to the grey of the predawn hour. Everyone was tired from walking all night after a day of travel before, but the coming light would undoubtedly help in the efforts to locate Skinner. It also meant that Mina would be getting more irritable, but the start of a new day was a good thing overall.

Nemo abruptly held his hand up, signaling the group to halt. Tom immediately scanned his surroundings for anything that might have caused the older man's concern. He didn't see anything of interest right away, but having everyone stop moving did allow the blond individual to hear a strange sound that could almost be called laughter.

"Hyenas," identified Nemo as their guide nodded in confirmation. It wasn't that surprising that the man had the knowledge to recognize the source of the sound. The captain always seemed to be well-educated on all matters. "Dangerous predators, but they generally avoid attacking large groups of people."

"But they are coming closer," pointed out Mina, frowning and tilting her head. "Listen."

Just as the vampire stated, the strange noises were getting louder. Sliding his rifle off his shoulder, Tom started moving to the front of the group. Peering into the darkness that still remained, the young man could vaguely make out a pair of dark shapes racing towards their direction.

Rasul commented, "Since the evil began to stalk these lands, nothing has been right. The beasts have not been normal."

"So they might try to attack us," remarked Tom, calmly taking aim just as Quatermain taught him.

"Are they," asked Henry slowly as he peered towards the running shapes, "chasing something?"

The American frowned at the doctor's words, but it did almost look like the two creatures were chasing something. As they came closer, he could make out more details and the strange laughing animals didn't seem to be focused on the group.

"Shoot them," a voice shouted abruptly.

Those two words, spoken swiftly from an unseen and yet greatly winded source, sent a bolt of dread through the blond young man. There was only one possible person who could be yelling that and it sounded like he was somewhere between the rest of the League and the quickly moving hyenas.

"Skinner?" he called back, both hoping he was wrong about his assumption and to better locate the invisible man if he was right.

" _Now_ ," the thief yelled desperately.

Tom lined up the shot for the closest animal but didn't dare pull the trigger. He knew he could hit a target, even a small one, without missing or hitting anyone else near it if he could see what he was shooting at. But he couldn't see Skinner and couldn't tell where exactly the invisible man was between the rifle and the animal. At worst, he could shoot his friend dead while trying to save him. At best, he might only graze him or cause a small injury that might slow the thief down while killing the closest hyena. But it was quite possible that he wouldn't be able to hit the second predator quick enough to stop it from catching Skinner if the first bullet slowed him down even slightly. Hitting him even a little with his shot could prove lethal.

He couldn't hesitate long either. Inaction could kill his friend just as swiftly as anything else he might do. Tom sent a brief prayer to miss the invisible obstacle before preparing to fire.

A single crack of a gun echoed briefly as the closest hyena tumbled sideways dead. No scream of pain or quickly appearing body materialized, so it would seem that the thief was still unharmed. The only remaining concerns for Tom were the remaining animal and the fact _he_ did not make the shot that killed the first.

Rather than go back through the different possible ways that the bullet could kill his invisible friend, the American ordered, "Skinner, drop now."

Hoping the thief listened, Tom fired on the second hyena. Even with the remaining distance between him and the collapsing beast, he knew the shot went right between the eyes. Quatermain was a good teacher, even if it was for far too short a time, and the old man insisted on hitting the target perfectly with one shot. So he did.

Even before the hyena's momentum stopped carrying it forward, Tom was running. He had to make sure the thief was all right. He needed to make certain that he didn't hit anything besides the predator.

When he drew near the corpses of the animals, the American called, "Skinner, where are you?"

"Over here," he panted tiredly, but sounding unhurt.

The voice drew the young man's attention to a patch of flattened grass a little uncomfortably near the dead hyena's mouth. He reached out in that direction, smiling slightly with relief. An invisible hand took the offered help and Tom could feel and hear him climbing back to his feet.

Still sounding winded, Skinner remarked, "Took you long enough. Trying to get me eaten?"

"Would you prefer me to accidentally shoot you? I couldn't tell where you were. I could have shot you when I was trying to hit the hyena," he defended, knowing he wasn't really complaining too strongly. "I wasn't the one who decided to run off alone and caught the attention of a dangerous animal."

By now the rest of the League were catching up with them. Henry held out the thief's hat, which Skinner quickly placed on his head to make it easier to locate him. Just because the invisible man left behind his clothes didn't mean they forgot to bring them. Now that he could at least somewhat be seen, Mina gave the thief a slight glare that was undoubted connected to her frustration at him disappearing earlier. Tom was equally certain that the vampire's expression would not bother Skinner in the slightest.

"Didn't mean to get their attention. Animals tend to notice me easier, sniffing me out," explained the invisible man. It sounded like he was finally catching his breath from his earlier sprint from the hyenas. "Nice shot though. Both of them."

"He only fired once," corrected Rasul before the American could say anything. "The first shot was from the other hunter."

"Who?" asked Tom.

Their guide pointed in a direction perpendicular to the one the predators had been running in. As the blond young man turned his attention that way, he could see a painfully familiar figure in the growing dawn's light. A white-haired man with a rifle slung across his shoulder was walking towards them. Even with his obvious age, he moved easily across the landscape in his practical clothes. No one spoke as the figure neared, none quite certain that they were actually seeing who they thought the man to be.

Finally, the older man was close enough that it was pointless to try denying his identity. Not that Tom wanted to, but it seemed to be too good to be true. He thought he would eventually become used to impossible events surrounding the League, but he still managed to be stunned by such things.

When he stopped a short distance from the group and looked at each of them in turn, Allan Quatermain's gaze finally rested on Tom and remarked, "You look as if you've seen a ghost, boy."

Finding his voice, he answered quietly, "With good reason."

* * *

The sight of the formerly dead man, who they had transported personally to Africa and buried in a nice little plot near his son, standing there quite casually could not be described as anything less than shocking. Probably was just as unexpected as it would have been if he told Charlotte he was Rodney. Still, the thief knew that he should say something about Allan's return. He should break up this whole awkward staring that was going on.

His heart no longer pounding as hard as it was when the hyenas began chasing him and the invisible man realized that he couldn't even come close to out-running them, he took a few steps forwards and poked the man in the shoulder. As the old hunter glared in the direction of the hat, the thief couldn't help smiling to himself.

"Seems the whole League has a problem with funerals. Tom interrupts his. I missed mine. Least Allan waited for his to finish before popping back up like this," he commented in a cheerful voice that was certain to irritate the man. "Nice to see your charming features again and all that. Plan to share with the rest of us how you managed to perform that trick? Perhaps you shot the Grim Reaper?"

"Skinner, I can see you haven't changed," remarked Allan dryly.

"Would you expect otherwise?" Mina asked, everyone beginning to relax and accept the strange return of their lost member.

"Did Miujiza not say this would be? He foretold that all of you would come and destroy the evil infecting this land," stated Rasul.

"Yes, your witch doctor is very wise. Africa wouldn't let me die, there are strange-acting animals running around, and his remark about those with _extraordinary_ abilities showing up seems to be true," the old hunter responded. "That still doesn't explain what you are doing so far from home, Rasul."

He quickly explained with a smile, "Every person has their role to fulfill. Mine was to guide these people until we found you." Turning towards the rest of the League, he added, "Now that my task is complete, I must leave you. You have our thanks for what you are doing to defeat this evil."

Without another word, Rasul turned and ran back the way they came. Skinner had to admire his energy. The thief, after everything that had occurred lately, didn't think that he could run anywhere at the moment. He was tired and the next hungry hyena would probably catch him immediately.

"Well, I'm here because that witch doctor asked me to investigate the predators that are acting odd," Allan remarked slowly. "And I owed him a favor or two for obvious reasons. But I have to wonder what would draw the League here."

Henry, finally finding his voice again, explained carefully, "A particular baron contacted a few members of the British government and they contacted us. He wanted us to find and rescue his kidnapped daughter. She's being held for ransom."

"Not anymore," corrected Skinner, his mood darkening as he remembered the expression on the mad man's face as he stared at the jewel. "He got his pretty little rock, but he ain't letting her go. Actually, he plans on worse than that."

"So you found her?" Tom asked. "And the man in charge…?"

"That Master fellow, Jacob Morris, has her and several followers hidden down a tunnel," he confirmed, wishing that he could have risked strangling the man earlier. "He has enough stones to buy out a small town, but he'd rather use them to rule over people. Mad as a hatter and armed with magic gems. That ain't a pretty combination. Already knew he could use those bracelets to control folk, but he has a few other scary tricks too."

"Not just men," declared Nemo. The captain, rather than still staring at the resurrected Quatermain, was examining the hyena corpse closest to them. He was tugging off what appeared to be a leather collar from the body. Even from this short distance, Skinner could see a blue, a red, and a green stone attached to it. "Normal hyenas should have not behaved in this manner. If the bracelets control humans, these collars might control the beasts."

"Guess they're the guards he mentioned," nodded the thief, the hat bobbing slightly in midair. "But we've bigger problems. Morris is certainly an evil one. Gets his power by cutting out a poor soul's heart and he plans to do that to her during the eclipse thing tonight." Skinner knew that, if it was actually possible to see his face, the current expression he wore would unnerve his friends. His tone was already making Allan stare at the invisible man oddly, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't let that happen to Charlotte. "Which means we better break her out quick and bash in his skull while we're at it."

The old hunter commented, "I never pictured our gentleman thief with a temper. This man sounds like a contemptible individual, but I don't believe he even spoke this venomously about Moriarty or Dorian."

"Every man has a line it is best not to cross," Nemo stated wisely.

"Perhaps we should try filling Quatermain in on the situation properly," suggested Henry. "He's missed out on a number of developments. Like whom Miss Charlotte Talbot is."

Skinner, continuing to dwell on the series of events that led to his sister's life being at risk, muttered darkly, "And after we get her back to London, I'm punching that heartless fool, Lord Talbot. Ain't bad enough he waits so long after she vanishes to ask for help, but then sent that bloody rock here to the mad man anyway." Growling quietly in frustration about the man and the entire situation, "Figures that he's getting his daughter killed by his selfishness. Pathetic excuse for a father. Probably don't care a bit about losing her either."

"Now I don't know who this Lord Talbot is, but that might be a harsh thing to accuse a parent of. Especially if he obviously cared enough to ask for your help," remarked Allan, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

No doubt this defense was born from memories of the loss of his son. It wouldn't take much imagination to consider the idea that someone in the past might have accused the man of such a thing; Tom had explained that the boy's death occurred when Allan brought him along on a mission. They might claim that he would not have placed his son in such danger if he cared for him.

The old hunter asked, "Do you have a good reason to think a father would not worry for his child safety?"

"Trust me, I've more than enough excuse to believe the worst of him," Skinner responded tensely, trying not to react badly to his ignorance. "Not all chaps are you when it comes to family, Allan. Some parents ain't the caring type and he's one of them. He'd rather toss out his son or hide Lottie's kidnapping than risk his bloody family name. But I ain't him and I ain't leaving her to that murdering mad man."

He could see the old hunter making the connections in his head. The white-haired man's eyebrows rose slowly as realization dawned on him. Tom placed his hand on the thief's shoulder, finding it by using the hat to judge the location. The blond young man gave him friend a reassuring look before glancing at Allan and nodding.

"This would be one of the developments that I meant we should discuss," commented Henry carefully.

* * *

This time was going to be special. Morris could feel it as he stared into the beautiful depths of the Delhi Purple Sapphire. He didn't fear the curse of the gem. He welcomed the destructive power it held. He knew that he could control it, even after the full potential was unleashed. This jewel would be his greatest treasure of his collection.

He'd already prepared a very unique setting for the stone. Bound by a silver ring, decorated with a number of astrological symbols and alchemical, and with two carved gems of a pale purple shade in the shape of scarabs, it was a work of art. Some may not see it, claiming the setting was not particularly attractive, but it left the man smiling contently. One of his followers was once a jeweler and Morris had him prepare he setting prior to the stone's arrival. After all, the guest of honor should look its best for the big event that evening. Just as a young lady of the upper class would put on her best dress for a special meeting with her beau.

Not that he was an expert on that type of lifestyle. Prior to the discovery of the journal of that nameless soul from the past and the carefully-wrapped leather package, he lived an ordinary life among the lower class. Just like his father before him, Morris knew he would never amount to much more than a menial worker. He would have spent his entire existence moving heavy objects for richer people if he'd never found the knowledge to gain power.

He remembered the pride his father demonstrated when Morris began to gain wealth. The aging man, worn out after a lifetime of working at the docks and unloading crates off of carts, didn't know how the blond youth was making so much money. Still, he was happy to see him becoming so successful over the years. At least, he was content with his son's new life until he began to notice hints of what type of "gifts" were needed achieve the success. Morris knew his parent would never accept that the deaths of lesser people were no great loss. He loved his father and all he'd done to help him growing up. He couldn't face the possibility of the older man being disappointed in him. Morris knew that he only had one choice if he wished to avoid that fate.

The death of his father had resulted in a rather powerful turquoise that enabled communication with his followers even over a distance.

Of course, part of the power was due to the stone itself. Gems were just as individualized as people. Some were stronger than others, but he was growing rather talented at predicting a specific jewel's potential.

That was why the deep purple stone excited him so much. It practically radiated power. With it, he might even have the capability to seize control of the entire British Empire straight from the rulers. The Delhi Purple Sapphire could very easily have the power to conquer the royalty, the upper class, and the government itself. He could feel the strength within the gem, just waiting to be free. He could only imagine the possibilities. It would be nice to see what he could do with access to the Crown Jewels, after all. A lunar eclipse and an innocent young girl, guarded her entire life and perfectly pure, would unlock that awe-inspiring potential.

Carefully, he unwrapped the leather bundle resting on his desk. It was the same object that he found alongside the book. Unlike the more modern instruments used commonly, this metal object was not merely a tool. It was a beautiful piece of a ceremony with an image etched into its length. Morris took great care to keep it in perfect condition.

Studying the edges to ensure that the knife was not in need of sharpening, Morris couldn't help smiling at the picture of the heart carved into the blade. Soon it would be used to cut out the little lamb's heart and produce the most powerful stone yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered using lions briefly, but I decided that hyenas are cooler and need more attention. The entire group of animals is highly under-rated and far more interesting than most people think. Lions might look more impressive, but there are plenty of other dangerous predators in Africa. Jacob Morris knows how to pick his guards.
> 
> These particular hyenas are called spotted hyenas. They are a matriarchal species that can reach numbers up to 80 individuals in a single group, though they are generally in smaller ones. They are the most common large carnivore in Africa. They can hunt alone, in groups of 2-5 individuals, or in large groups in addition to the scavenging that most people picture. They actually have complex societies and are rather intelligent. They are also a very vocal species with a number of different sounds used in different situations. The high pitched laugh is generally for fear and retreat, but the soft grunt laugh would be used during encounters with lions, men, or when they are hunting large prey.
> 
> They have one of the most powerfully-built skulls among the Carnivora for its size, resulting in a powerful bite (800 kgf/cm2) which is 40 percent more force than a leopard and they can crack bones with a 7 cm diameter. They are usually 70-91.5 cm tall with the males weighing 82-121 lbs and females 98-141 lbs. Spotted hyenas have pale grayish-brown or yellow-grey fur with spots on the back and hindquarters. They can lope around at 10 kilometers per hour, gallop at 60 kilometers per hour, or keep up a steady speed between 40-50 kilometers per hour for a reasonable distance. To put that into perspective, the average human running speed is 12 kilometers per hour.
> 
> They track prey by sight, sound, and smell, all of which are very acute sense for the species. In fact, they can smell a carcass up to 4 kilometers away. The estimate is that they have a sense of smell approximately 40 times more powerful than humans. But for hunting a living creature, they prefer to depend on sight and they have excellent night vision. Spotted hyenas tend to hunt almost any type of prey without preference. They've even killed and eaten humans at various points, though they usually run away instead. They will hunt during the day, but tend to be bolder at night. In order to kill prey, the smaller creatures are shaken in the mouth. Larger animals are disemboweled and eaten alive.
> 
> To summarize, they are a smart pack animal that can crush bone with their jaws very easily, have a great sense of smell that would make invisibility less effective for escaping their notice, and they prefer to disembowel and eat their victim alive. This means that Skinner should be very happy that he wasn't caught by them.
> 
> The setting described for the Delhi Purple Sapphire is how I described it. I wasn't able to find any information about when it was placed into that odd-looking setting, so I decided to take a few liberties and have Morris do it.


	13. Tense Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corsets are not technically supposed to be as uncomfortable and hard to breathe in as everyone imagines. They were in most cases intended to serve as the equivalent of a bra or any other type of undergarment. The corset enabled the wearer to produce a form-fitted, moral, and fashionable appearance, indicating good breeding. Maintaining this level of appearance produced the impression of being upper-crust, enabling the wearer to appeal to a better class of husband and fit in with the desired social circle. 
> 
> Yes, they would create more of an hourglass figure and encourage proper posture, but most only inhibited breathing and caused problems if they are improperly tightened. And if someone has been wearing the corset for years, then they'll be perfectly used to the normal level of tightness and would suffer no more problems than someone who regularly wears a bra in our era. Of course, if someone wanted to look thinner than they truly were… 
> 
> There were variations, however, as time progressed so that some were more constricting than others. In fact, by the end of the Victorian era, people were starting to realize that over-tightening the corset was causing health problems and those who would subscribe to it were said to be slaves to fashion. This led to the introduction of the "Perfect Health" corset. 
> 
> Generally, corsets of this time period used whale bones, and later steel and starch, in order to create the stiffness required for the supposed "I can't breathe" scenarios. During the 1890s, two fashionable styles were the corset waist and the extra long waist corset. The first was more flexible, used cording instead of whale bone, had shoulder straps, and was inexpensive and more popular with the working-class woman. The extra long waist corset was, as the name suggested, far longer. Often made of sateen, these corsets could also be embellished with decorative embroidery. It laces at the back and uses widely spaced clips on the front for fastening. This design also used a curved busk protector, additional pieces of whalebone inserted to the fabric of the busk (a particularly stiff section that, during this time was also converted into a buttoned or hooked front opening to the thing in case you didn't want to undo the lace to get out). Oddly, removable busks were considered gifts of endearment from men and were often carved with lines of poetry on them. Well, some guys today give their girlfriends sexy lingerie as gifts…

She'd nearly forgotten what hope felt like before the strange invisible man arrived and promised to rescue her. Charlotte stared at the door for quite some time after he left, trying to actually believe that there was a real chance of escape. This Mr. Skinner person might not be what she expected her savior to be, but it didn't matter. Something told her to trust his word.

She would escape this dark prison and return home. She _would_ get to see the light of day again. She would be able to return to London, to see other people and hear the familiar sounds of civilization. She would be able to see her family home, to be welcomed back by the servants that were employed there, and sleep on a real bed again. There would be a warm and comforting greeting from her family. After all, her father contacted these people to rescue her in the first place. Victor would be distant probably and Father would undoubtedly show only a hint of the concern that would have spurred him into action, but Mother would welcome her back with open arms as long as it was a private affair. She would soon be safe. And she would be able to return and marry the Honorable Mr. Charles Ashmore.

She frowned briefly, curious why that last thought was not nearly as comforting as the others. She also found it odd that, even within her own mind, she preferred to think of him by his full name or just "Ashmore" rather than as Charles. After a moment, she dismissed it as a product of those wedding jitters that her peers would talk about and her time isolated in the dark cage. Surely she would become more enthusiastic and comfortable with the idea as her wedding day approached. For now, all that mattered was that she would get to experience that happy occasion. Her rescue was at hand.

A tiny voice in her head, the one that seemed more and more like Rodney advising her from beyond the grave, pointed out that there was still a chance that something could happen before Mr. Skinner could return. It wasn't a particularly reassuring thought, but that voice pointed out quickly that she could try and increase her odds of surviving until the rescue. If she could slow down or delay her captors from doing whatever that Mr. Morris was intending, that would give them more time to save her.

Initially, she was just as much at a loss of what she could do as before. Nothing in her entire life ever prepared her for facing kidnappers intending to carve out her heart. None of her lessons in etiquette would help her. So, she decided to once more draw upon her memory of Rodney. Just like how imitating his style of speaking managed to gain a reaction from her captors, he might just be able to help her again.

Her brother, who would sneak her out of their country home just to go play games that would have left her nurse scolding, was the answer. He'd tell her stories of knights saving damsels in distress or pirates that sailed the seas (though that tale gave her nightmares for a little while). Some of his games involved him fighting off imaginary foes with a stick for a sword, defeating the villain just in time to save the princess. These games weren't encouraged later on by her governess, who approved of more feminine pursuits. But a few scattered memories of her brother wielding improvised weapons in mock duels remained. And those memories started tugging at an idea that a proper lady would dismiss, but might actually give her a chance to stand up for herself.

Gaining access to her corset without removing her dress was a little tricky, but Charlotte was feeling rather motivated at the moment. The stiff fabric of the undergarment seemed rather solid as her fingertips explored in search of the edge. She knew that there were some models that were less constricting, but they were more common with those of the lower class. One of the reasons was due to them being cheaper to produce using cording. As the daughter of Lord Talbot and the future wife of the Honorable Mr. Ashmore, she wore one of the longer and more expensive styles. Hers still contained whale bone in order to retain the proper shape.

Locating the edge, the young woman began picking at it with her fingernails. She tugged at the threads, hoping to unravel the garment just enough to gain access to the whale bone inside. There were tales of some girls who would over tighten the garment and snap one of the pieces. Being stabbed by the piece of bone was a painful idea, but it didn't seem to stop those who were still slaves of fashion. And if she could remove part of one of those whale bones inside her corset, she might at least have a small weapon to keep her captors at bay. They wouldn't expect such an action, especially after all this time as their prisoner. It might just be enough to buy her extra time for Mr. Skinner and his companions to rescue her.

* * *

There were untold numbers of mysteries in the world, some more amazing than others. He knew he'd learned more of those strange secrets in his long life than most people would even dream of. But even his years of experience couldn't prepare him for all of the oddities of the world. He'd adapted to being on a team with an invisible man, a pirate, an immortal, a vampire, and the intriguing Mr. Hyde, yet there were still surprises within the League for him to discover. Regardless, Allan was willing to discover the truth behind these new mysteries, even if it was something as unimaginable as Skinner being the son of a baron.

Sawyer had been the one to give a rather short and basic explanation of the thief's childhood and the events that brought them to their current location. He tried to keep it quick, though. The blond young man was also trying to keep an ear open to Skinner as the invisible man worked out a sketch of what he'd observed of the layout and reported everything that Morris said. By the point where he finished, every member of the League was beginning to look and sound tired. Considering they'd been apparently on the move since the day before, already fought one battle against magically-empowered villagers, and would soon be facing another fight undoubtedly during the rescue attempt, Allan suggested they move to a more easily-defended location so they could try to get some rest while he kept watch. When both the invisible thief and Sawyer tried to argue, he firmly pointed out that they needed to be at their best if they wanted to succeed and they grudgingly surrendered.

One of Nemo's men also remained awake to help keep watch and would likely be relieved at some point to ensure that none of them would be tired when they started the rescue attempt, but he was far enough away to allow Allan to be alone with his thoughts. The crew of the Nautilus was reliable as ever it would seem. Apparently at least some things never changed. And he didn't know if he was happy about that fact.

It was like he never left the League. He knew that slipping back into his old position would be far too simple. None of them would hesitate to welcome him back and part of him wanted nothing more than to continue with the adventures they were certain to attract. But he was old and he survived enough such ventures to satisfy even the most foolhardy of men. He would help the League with their current problem; he owed them that much. He wouldn't, however, rejoin. They were the future, a new generation for the new century. And he was merely a relic of the past that refused to let go.

"Why is it I keep finding people brooding like this?" asked Sawyer, startling Allan slightly out of his thoughts and surprising him with how little he was observing his immediate surroundings. "Is this some type of revenge for all 'moping' that Skinner kept complaining about?"

"You should be resting, boy," the old hunter pointed out.

He shrugged slightly as he sat down and stared out across the sun-baked landscape, "I did. For a while. I suppose the fact Skinner is actually sleeping instead of pacing around is a minor miracle, though." He glanced behind him for a moment before continuing, "I just woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. And if I'm going to be awake anyway, I might as well help keep watch."

When Sawyer fell silent, Allan took a moment to study the American. His earlier assessment that nothing had changed might not be completely true. He still held that wide-eyed optimism, though perhaps tempered by experience and loss. But there was a maturity to the blond young man that wasn't there before. He was growing up in subtle ways. The potential that led to the old man taking Sawyer under his wing in the first place was still there and something told him that it would certainly be fulfilled. Somehow, these observations left him feeling rather proud of the blond young man.

After several minutes of silence, Allan finally closed his eyes and said, "Go ahead. I know you've wanted to ask it since I showed up and you've been avoiding it so far. Ask the question."

"Why?"

"Why didn't I let you know what happened after you returned me to Africa?" He shook his head slightly, "A number of reasons, though most of them are of no real consequence except to me. Mostly I felt it was best for everyone if they forgot about me and moved on."

"Forget you? Do you honestly believe that there is a single member of this League who could forget you?"

"Fine. If not forget, they could at least look to the future instead of the past. I've served my purpose and lived my life to the fullest, Sawyer. I helped ensure that peace will exist for this world a little longer. I've gone far beyond my prime, meaning I shall only become less useful with time. Everything I wish to accomplish has been achieved." In a mildly softer voice, he added, "I've even managed to have a legacy to continue after I'm gone." Allan glanced briefly at the young man before stating, "My life has reached its conclusion. I'm just too stubborn to stay in my grave yet."

"Does this have anything to do with what you told Nemo about old tigers? Because I would expect you to keep fighting, not give up on the remainder of your life like this," Sawyer remarked, gaining a slightly dangerous edge to his voice.

"Just because I am no longer charging straight into danger in an attempt to go out in a blaze of glory does not mean I am giving up."

"Then why didn't you contact us? Because you _knew_ we would invite you back and you wouldn't be able to say 'no' to the offer. Now at first glance that sounds like you're done with the action, but you're out here hunting for monsters and evil that Rasul said was wandering around. You can't turn your back on adventure or the hunt, Quatermain." Quieter, he added, "You don't turn your back on that. Only us."

Even a blind man could see that the American didn't mean turning his back so much on the League as he meant turning his back on Sawyer. And Allan was far from blind. He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"I'm old. My reflexes aren't quite as sharp as before and I need glasses for my long-distance shots. The dangers of the world aren't going to get any easier."

"So you're just going to give up? Fine, we'd understand. There's nothing wrong with retiring. But you still could have sent a message that you were alive. You should have at least done that much."

"Sawyer, you might be better with a gun than in the past, but you're making up for it by firing your mouth too soon. Let me finish." He waited a moment to see if the young man would obey the instruction before continuing, "I've died once and I'm living on borrowed time now. Next time I meet death, it will be final and it'll undoubtedly be soon enough. I've buried far too many friends. And family." Allan stopped, staring firmly into the young man's eyes. "That is suffering I would wish on no one, but I've inflicted it upon you once already for my sake. Do not ask me to be so cruel as to make any of you go through my death a second time."

Before the young man could react, the old hunter turned his gaze back towards his surroundings in at least an attempt to appear to be keeping watch. He knew the pain of loss, of standing helpless while someone died in your arms and there was nothing you could do to stop it. He remembered Harry's death vividly as if it was only yesterday that he held his son during his final moments. He was also quite aware that his own demise placed Sawyer in that same situation. Allan did not intend to do that to the American a second time nor would he put anyone else in the League in that position. He also didn't want to be the one holding the blond young man as he died someday, but that was of a lesser concern since it was far more likely that the old hunter would return to his grave soon. There had been enough pain already. He didn't want to make them go through it again.

After several moments of silence, he began to believe that the conversation was over. Then Sawyer scratched the back of his head and started speaking again.

"I guess you never found out how I ended up at knife-point… back in Mongolia. Remember when we were separated because I bumped into Skinner and told you to keep going?"

"I do seem to recall that," he nodded.

"Well, it turned out not to be him. One of M's men managed to turn himself invisible and ended up being a real problem to deal with. I couldn't shoot him since I couldn't see him and just when I managed to deal with him, things got worse. This man, covered in metal, stepped into view with a weapon that shot out flames and I barely avoided being burned alive as he trapped me in a corner. The only reason I wasn't killed right then was Skinner. Somehow he showed up and stabbed the container for that weapon, telling me to run." He paused before shaking his head, "I wasn't hurt, but he was set on fire saving me. The other invisible man caught me when I tried to help Skinner. And after… everything else happened that day, getting back to him through the rubble caused by the explosions was tricky. When Henry saw him, and you could actually _see_ some of him since the burns on his body was so bad, everyone could tell that he wasn't in good shape and that the doctor knew how slim his chances were. But even if he probably wasn't going to survive, we couldn't leave him behind."

"But he did live, obviously."

"Only because our doctor is a miracle worker, though he's too modest to admit it. And do you know what the first thing Skinner told me once he started healing?" When Allan shook his head, Sawyer said, "He told me to stop apologizing for everything and that it wasn't my fault. He told me that if he was crazy enough to get set of fire saving my neck, then it was his responsibility. And he's been making sure I don't forget that ever since."

"I assume you're telling me his for some reason other than merely to describe what occurred after my death."

"I am," he nodded. "The League is made up of extraordinary people, but none of us are immortal. At least we aren't since Dorian was killed, though Mina is fairly close. And we spend our time in dangerous situations in most cases. Dying and losing members will always be a possibility, but we'll face it together. We look out for each other, even if it means suffering for our decisions. That's what families do and, after everything we've gone through together, the League is definitely a family."

Allan stared at the blond young man a moment, causing Sawyer to duck his head briefly. He found it curious that Sawyer would say such a thing, especially considering how often the old hunter tried _not_ to continuously compare him to Harry. Admitting that he sometimes thought fondly of the American as another son was difficult, even if he was only admitting it to himself.

Sawyer clarified, "That's the funny thing about families. They aren't always who you'd think. I should know. I was raised by my Aunt Polly and I wasn't the only child in the household, but there was _another_ boy I knew that was my brother in all but blood. He was the sort of person I would trust my life to without hesitation. He wasn't related to me, but he was family. He was certainly a better brother to me than some people are to their blood relatives. Look at Skinner. He'd beat up his father if given the chance and with good reason. But he's risk his neck for me without even thinking about it. And Edward fought to protect Mina yesterday when those villagers got a lucky hit and you died to save me in Mongolia. That's what family is. They're the ones you can depend on and who will stand beside you, regardless of whose blood you share. They've got your back and you'll guard theirs. The price of family, though, is the pain you feel when you lose it." He stopped a moment, his expression stubborn, before adding, "I don't know about you, but I'm willing to pay that price. I know it'll be painful if Skinner dies. Or Mina. Or Nemo. Or Henry and even Edward. But I'd rather run that risk and the risk of hurting them in turn if I die. The only other option is to abandon them and I won't do that. And if the price to have you back in the League is watching you get hurt or die again, I'll do it gladly. But that doesn't mean we won't fight to keep you alive as long as possible."

Staring at him closely, Allan remarked slowly, "I've heard men speak passionately about Queen and Country enough times that such speeches bore me more often than they motivate me. Such loyalty to a 'noble cause' can grow tiresome on the ears. But you've always been rather talented at capturing my attention and… you're right. There is always a risk of hurting those important to you and being hurt in return. But that is no excuse to let such a risk dictate your life and I've never been one to shrink away from a challenge merely because of the danger." He smirked briefly, "Rasul implied that spending my final days lounging around Africa alone was not what I was meant for and that I needed a new purpose. I guess rejoining the League is as good a plan as any."

"Wonderful," Skinner's voice remarked from an empty space to the right of Allan, startling the older man slightly. "Glad to have you aboard once more."

"How long have you been listening?" asked Sawyer quickly, spinning to face the source of the voice.

"Long enough to wonder if I'd have to knock some sense into the both of you if you kept moping around," he answered casually. "Not to mention the fact that our dear Tom seems to like giving those motivational speeches that make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Ain't it precious?" When Sawyer swung an arm in the invisible man's general direction, Skinner added, "The others should be waking up soon and then we can start planning properly. Not to mention you can tell them that all our freaky darlings will be back on the Nautilus together again."

"Skinner," Allan began calmly. "I believe I was quite clear in the past about being clothed at all times and what would occur otherwise. That threat is still in place. Put something on _now_."

* * *

Sleep was supposed to be calming. It offered an opportunity to forget your troubles for a time and to gather your strength to face a new day. And while dreams and nightmares might visit the mind during this time, there are those who claimed that an innocent man will always rest easy and only a guilty one will find his sleep plagued by horrors.

Of course, Henry knew he was not truly an innocent man as long as Edward was part of him. Perhaps his other half was improving, but there was still plenty of blood on Edward's hands. And those hands would become Henry's once the formula wore off. Though nightmares were common enough during the time when Edward was at his most active and violent, the combination of joining the League and the mellowing of his alternate personality greatly diminished the frequency and intensity of such things. Monsters now rarely stalked his dreams and whispered horrific ideas to his sleeping mind; he generally experienced enough such events in his waking life whenever he caught a glimpse of a reflective surface.

But on the rare occasion when such comments growled from a mirror were not enough, Edward would drag him into the neutral territory of dreams so they could speak face to face. Generally, he did not use such a technique, satisfied to insult and distract during daylight hours and to leave the doctor at the mercy of whatever nightmares might appear. The reprieve from his other half while he slept was often a blessing. In the rare meeting between the two in the mind, Henry was rarely left at ease. He always feared awakening to learn that Edward took control somehow during the night. Even the improving relationship between the two halves didn't completely banish that dread.

The mental landscape, in the past, tended to appear like the streets of London on a foggy night. It was always dark, always deserted other than the two of them, and it was always a familiar street. Sometimes it was the one Henry grew up on, sometimes the one he moved to when he began his practice, and sometimes it was one where Edward murdered someone. Regardless, the location for these meetings was always a familiar one.

This time, however, Henry didn't find himself standing in the streets of London as he faced the hulking figure of Edward. Instead, they were in the bright hallways of the Nautilus. A curious change, but he couldn't focus very long on the issue since Edward was staring at him.

"I am growing weary of this, Henry," he growled, looming over him and taking up a large portion of the hallway. "For a moment, we were united. We both wanted something and you took action. It was such a sweet victory, though not as challenging a sport as I prefer. And to the victors go the spoils. She isn't a prize that you toss on a shelf, but one you must continue to prove worthy of. The best kind of prize of all. A dangerous predator that hunts victims in the night." He grinned briefly in what might almost be called a thoughtful manner before snapping, "But you're ruining it. After you fought for her, you intend to pull away again? You're giving up. How spineless can you act? I know you can do better than that. I refuse to let you destroy our chances. You can't go back to calling her 'Mrs. Harker' and keeping your distance."

"She deserves better than us," Henry snapped back. "Better than _me_. I won't ask any woman to be involved with a monster. And I'm just as much a monster as you. You came from _me_ , after all."

"She is not just any woman. She's a monster as well, just one who is as beautiful as she is dangerous. But we are better monsters than some," he stated. "Besides, she's far less fragile than most women. I'd have some trouble breaking her apart like a porcelain doll." He stepped forward, "Admit what you want for once in your life, Henry. Don't just let her get snatched up by someone else just because you're too much of a coward."

"I can't do that to her. I can't ask her to settle for anything less than what she deserves."

"Can't or won't? Remember, if you don't take action before I grow bored or if you keep backing away from her, I'll deal with her on my own."

A spark of courage made the doctor step forward and glare at the looming figure, saying quickly, "You will do no such thing. You can help protect her and the rest of the League, but you will _not_ try to make her yours. You won't do or say anything that could ruin this. If you do, I'll step off the Nautilus and never go near the sea again. I'll march straight into the darkest jungle, away from any other human being, and keep walking until there is no possible way to gain access to the ingredients for the elixir. I'll vanish from society and leave you trapped in my head for the rest of our lives, even if you try to drive me mad." Not surrendering even the slightest, he took another step forward and stated firmly, "She's _not_ ours."

Edward tilted his head slightly in response to the display, "How peculiar. You'll fight to protect her, even from ourselves. And yet you refuse to fight _for_ her. I'd say your newfound spine needs a little adjustment. Why won't you just give up and let us _try_ to have the beautiful and deadly Mina? It would be easier than continuing this fight and I know you want her."

"Because," he stated quietly, his moment of actual willpower fading towards his more usual temperament, "if you love someone, it is sometimes best to let them go." He was silent for several moments before adding cautiously, "Once, I wouldn't have considered it possible for you. But you've changed since I first took the formula. You love her too. Perhaps in a different, more aggressive way than what I feel for her, but a form of love none the less. That's why you keep pushing me to take action. You want her, but you know that you won't win her heart with violence and pain." When the hulking figure didn't immediately dismiss the doctor's words, he said, "Edward, we _have_ to let her go."

As the white hallways of the Nautilus dissolved away, Henry realized he was waking up. He opened his eyes to see Nemo shaking his shoulder. It only took a moment for the doctor to recall where he was.

"Quatermain suggested that we should begin planning the attack now if we're to finish in time," the captain informed him.

Henry nodded his understanding and began climbing to his feet. It was curious that he could recover so quickly from a prolonged conversation with his other half, even if it felt that such a discussion should be exhausting at times and certainly should leave him emotionally drained. It was nearly as curious as how quickly the League recovered from the shock of their lost member's return to the land of the living.

He caught a glimpse of Mina as she moved to join the rest of the group with planning. She was scowling slightly in response to the African sunlight that tried to blind them. Even her less-than-happy expression made her still look beautiful.

Look, but don't touch. That was all he would ever be able to do.


	14. Human Sacrifice

The piece of whalebone, carefully extracted from her corset and sharpened to a point by being rubbed against the stone floor, fit snuggly in her grip. It wasn't much. Charlotte knew that it was nowhere near as effective a deterrent as a knife or even a gun would be, though a proper young lady would be useless at wielding those weapons defensively anyway. But she knew that broken whalebone pieces could stab a woman if her corset was too tight and they snapped. She'd heard the horror stories. She also knew that there was hope for a rescue. All she had to do was keep her kidnappers' hands off until then.

The passage of time was still difficult to judge for her, but she was able to manage a little. The only hint that Charlotte could use to guess when someone else would open the door was the dwindling supply of oil in her lamp. The pattern of previous days allowed her to estimate when the arrival of more lamp oil and food would be. Thus, she was ready to conceal the sharpened piece of her corset (and the damage the sharpening did to her hands) when the sounds of footsteps approached.

Charlotte hid her small sigh of relief when her two regular jailers entered rather than the more unnerving Mr. Morris. It was hard enough trying to work up the courage to make an attempt. She wouldn't even dare such a thing if she was facing the insane murderer. He wanted to cut out her heart with a knife. His followers couldn't touch her. They were safer to deal with.

In addition to the familiar sight of a tray of food and the oil, the two men were also carrying a pitcher of water and bowl similar to what Charlotte would use to clean up back home and a length of white fabric that the taller individual held draped over one arm. The change in routine did little to sooth her nerves. The last alteration to her imprisonment and routine involved Mr. Morris's visit and it was proof that change was not necessarily good.

"Our Master has something very special planned for you this evening," one of the men informed her as he slid her meal into reach.

"I believe he has already shared his intentions quite clearly," she replied, keeping her tone calm and even.

She had to act like she was in control, but she couldn't act too relaxed either. She needed to find the right balance. She didn't want them to suspect there was an escape plan and that she intended to defend herself a little. She also couldn't completely fall apart. She couldn't give them the satisfaction.

"He sent this for you to wear," the taller man said, holding the white cloth a little higher. "He commands that you wash and dress yourself in a reasonable amount of time. Or else _we_ will do it for you."

As the first man set the pitcher of water and bowl on the ground, she nodded and said, "I understand. I can take care of that without your help."

"We thought you'd see things our way."

"If you would give me the dress, that would be helpful," Charlotte said, stepping a little closer to the bars.

When he began to reach the white clothing through the space between the metal bars, the young woman struck. Her jailers didn't even have time to realize she'd been hiding her hands since their arrival. The taller man's first hint that she wasn't completely cowed was when the sharpened whalebone was stabbed into the back of his hand, the desperate attack as quick as a snake bite. Charlotte found herself experiencing surprisingly vicious satisfaction when he yelped in pain and stumbled away from the bars. She was left standing there, still gripping her makeshift weapon in preparation for another strike. Somehow, she suspected her long-dead brother would be proud of her.

"She stabbed me," he snarled, staring at his blood-dripping wound. "I'm going to kill her. I'm going to kill that little—"

"No, you aren't," the other stated, grabbing his arm to stop him. "The Master wants her in good condition. Besides, you know she'll be dead soon anyway."

The anger in his eyes drained away, leaving the man nodding thoughtfully, "You're right. There is no reason to anger our Master when her time is so limited anyway." Reaching out his uninjured hand while still keeping it out of striking range, he said, "Give it up, girl."

"I do not think I shall be doing that," Charlotte replied, her fingers tightening slightly on the whalebone. "If you insist on following the plan of a madman and kill me this evening, I will not make it easy for you."

The uninjured man chuckled, "Our Master's little lamb is growing bolder. Maybe she should remember that she is entirely at our mercy and no one is coming for her."

Brushing her auburn hair away from her face, she said, "You have already said that you are not allowed to cause me any harm until your master says so. That means there is little you can do to make me cooperate."

She could do this. She could hold these two men off, at least as long as the bars of her cage kept them at bay. She could buy herself some time. And if she could just stay in the dim cell long enough, her rescue would arrive and she could go home. Charlotte held onto that hope as she stared them down. She just needed to hold them off long enough.

Still chuckling as his companion attempted to keep the dripping blood off the white fabric, the man corrected, "Our Master wants you in good condition and unspoiled. You don't have to be completely unharmed though. Now my friend here would probably love to drag you out by your hair with your fingers broken, especially after that little trick. The Master wouldn't be happy about it, but he'd understand that you resisted and that there weren't a lot of options. And you'd still work as a sacrifice in that condition. So you can hand over whatever you stabbed him with and do exactly what we said or we can do things the hard way that results in a bit more pain for you."

He pulled out a key and stepped closer to the door. Shivering slightly against her will, Charlotte realized that her attempt to fight back was over. If they came inside the cage, she wouldn't be able to fight them both off and they'd take the whalebone anyway. She'd known her idea was a long-shot from the start, but she'd hoped it would work a little longer.

Trying to look on the bright side, the young woman remembered that a rescue was on the way. That invisible man, Mr. Skinner, said they were coming to free her. And she did at least injure one of the men who'd been holding her captive for so long. She'd drawn blood. It might not be the action of a proper young lady, but Miss Charlotte Talbot felt slightly proud that she'd managed to strike back at least a little.

"Very well," she nodded slowly. "I suppose it would be best to follow your earlier request."

Holding her head high and holding onto her hope that help would arrive soon, she handed over her improvised weapon and accepted the white garment. The injured man gave her a rather fierce glare, but the young lady didn't allow herself to even flinch. While the two men had seemed intimidating previously, she knew now that Mr. Morris was far more frightening. They were nothing but obedient servants who would only do as he told them. He was the one who would kill her if given the chance.

"Remember to hurry," he said as they headed for the door. "There's a very special occasion this evening and you are the guest of honor. We wouldn't want you to be late, would we?" He paused a moment before adding, "And no corset. It'll just be in the way."

* * *

Everything was prepared. He'd chosen the largest chamber of his base of operations, a space that could hold all his followers that were currently on site. Morris wanted a proper audience for this evening's events. Even if they were compelled to obey, they were still aware enough to react to what was to come. Unlike those who lived in the nearby village, they would understand and remember this moment. They would appreciate the enormity of his actions.

True, they would follow him regardless of anything else. The bracelets on each man under his service ensured that fact. But he'd chosen them carefully. Everyone who would witness this sacrifice were people who would have little or no complaints about the death of the young woman even without the magic binding them to his will. As long as they were rewarded for their work, they would go along with his orders. A few would even like the show simply because they were vicious before Morris recruited them. The man wouldn't be surprised if it turned out Jack the Ripper was among his followers somewhere.

Regardless, tonight's sacrifice would be particularly memorable. The sweet little lamb would unlock the power of the most valuable and powerful gem he'd ever found. Morris knew that awakening of the Delhi Purple Sapphire would be his greatest moment. He knew that the moment he carved her beating heart out of her chest and drenched the stone in her blood, he would know the meaning of true power. It would be awe-inspiring and he wanted everyone to witness this moment of triumph.

As his people entered the large, cavernous chamber, he waited on the specially-built platform at the far end. He'd insisted that the people in charge of preparing the room place a large stone slab with iron loops pounded into it to bind the young woman in place. The stories of the savage and bloody actions of the ancient Aztec people hidden in the dark jungles of Central America always sounded so impressive since the moment he'd first heard them. Some of the ideas about carving out the sacrifice's heart for an important purpose were just too similar for Morris to ignore. So when it came time for the perfect sacrifice for his perfect jewel, he couldn't resist the urge to be a little more theatrical about it. Cutting out her heart on a stone slab like the Aztecs would their human sacrifices felt appropriate. Just as they offered people as gifts to their gods to provide power, he would offer a precious little lamb to unlock the stone's full potential.

Dressed in his finest clothes and wearing his most prized gems, Morris stood there proudly. His followers formed organized lines on both sides of the chamber, leaving the center as a clear pathway. Beside the stone slab was a sturdy table with his knife, a bowl, and the awaiting Delhi Purple Sapphire. As soon as they brought Miss Talbot out of her cell, everything would be ready. And the moment the penumbral eclipse occurred, it would be time.

Yes, everything was going perfectly according to plan. There was absolutely nothing that could ruin this moment.

* * *

Charlotte wasn't even certain that the garment she was wearing could actually be considered a true dress. It wasn't anything that a proper young lady would wear when expecting company. The fabric, while soft and smooth to the touch, draped over her body lightly and reminded Charlotte far more of her nightgowns rather than more appropriate attire. No one would choose to wear such a thing outside of the bedroom. It was too loose and flowing; a strong breeze would easily cause the hemline to rise to mid-calf. She doubted even the boldest streetwalker would wear such a thing. Years of lessons about what is proper, modest, and decent told Charlotte that she couldn't put on the offered dress without utterly destroying her reputation and dignity.

But she also knew that if she did not do as she was told, the two men would return and physically force her to don the chosen garment. And even the thin and draping fabric was preferable to having them see her completely naked. So with a quiet prayer for forgiveness for wearing such a provocative outfit and that her rescuers would arrive shortly, the young lady quickly washed and donned her new dress while being thankful that she at least was allowed to retain her footwear. The stone floor would have been unbearably cold to stand on otherwise.

By the time her two jailers returned to escort her, Charlotte had gathered all her courage, hope for rescue, and memories of her beloved brother together until she could form a wall of defense in her mind against what was to come. She would face these obstacles with poise and control rather than crumbling into a frightened and weeping mess that they probably expected. She wouldn't give them the pleasure of seeing her upset. She met their arrival with all the grace that she would greet guests arriving to her parlor with.

"Good evening," she said, keeping her tone cool and collected. "I take it that your master is ready to receive company?"

She purposefully ignored how the pair was leering at her. They clearly noticed how much easier it was to see her figure in this new outfit than it was in a more appropriate dress. The length and neckline were reasonable, but the fabric simply flowed around her body. Even without her corset to define her shape properly, it was more than most men were allowed to observe without being wed to a woman. But Charlotte stood there, maintaining her dignity even in the white dress. She barely even acknowledged the men's presence as they opened the cell door and gripped her arms tightly.

"He is indeed ready for you," the man on her right, the one who she stabbed previously, said. "And we're here to escort you to him."

"Well, I am quite certain that you are the most effective and cultured escorts he possesses," remarked the young lady dryly. "He must be so proud of your wit and manners."

"You choose the oddest moments to show a backbone," the man on her left commented. "After all those stories about upper class young ladies being soft and harmless…"

Before she could stop herself, she muttered, "Sometimes we learn things from our brothers."

As he led her down yet a different tunnel, he said, "I've heard stories about your brother. The Honorable Victor Talbot. Takes after your father, doesn't he? I'm not that impressed so far."

While part of her wanted to snap back that she meant her long-dead brother, she held her tongue. She didn't need to get into an argument with him at the moment. Besides, it was a reasonable mistake since no one even spoke of Rodney anymore. The man likely didn't even know she used to have another sibling and she doubted Victor would be that impressive to any of the ruffians who held her captive.

The rest of her thoughts shriveled away as they led her into a large chamber and she stared at her surroundings. This particular part of the cave was huge, the ceiling stretching high with various crevices and ledges creating deep shadows that even the torches couldn't pierce. At one point, high above, was a tiny opening that she could glimpse a little piece of the night sky. It was the first time she'd seen the outside since she'd been brought to this place.

The rest of the massive chamber was riddled with other tunnels, leading in various directions and making it clear that this was a central location that branched off into other chambers and rooms. There was a maze-like quality to the various openings, promising that anyone who was careless with their explorations would quickly be lost to the darkness. These numerous passages were also shrouded in shadows, adding further gloom and dread to the young woman's present state.

All around her were strange men, filling the space and making rescue seem less likely with each passing second. There were dozens upon dozens of them, standing in orderly lines and patiently waiting for what was to come. The only way through the mass of people was the single aisle of space that led all the way to a platform near the front of the crowds. There, Mr. Morris stood next to a large stone slab that waited like an altar. Even if she didn't know what the vile man had in mind, Charlotte would have realized that these people were clearly waiting for her.

Her arms held firm by her escorts, the young woman couldn't help thinking that this all seemed like a cruel mockery of the wedding she'd intended to someday have. She was walking down the aisle, at the center of attention to everyone in attendance, while a man waited for her at the end that would change her entire life. All that was missing was the orange blossoms in her hair and a bouquet of lavender or beautiful purple violets in her arms. If she didn't still have hope for rescue thanks to Mr. Skinner's promise, she knew she'd probably break down into hysterical laughter over the entire thing. Instead, she maintained her firm mask of cool indifference as she was marched towards the platform.

"What happened, Clarke?" Morris asked as they reached the stone slab.

"She stabbed me," muttered the injured man darkly. "She stabbed me with part of her corset."

Looking vaguely amused, he remarked, "It seems even innocent little lambs will fight to survive. Perhaps some of that hidden fire will spark something interesting from the gem stone."

"It is such a shame no one locked you in Bedlam before you had the chance to completely lost your mind," remarked Charlotte dryly, but in a loud enough voice that she hoped the man's followers would hear.

The man smirked slightly at her words, but didn't say anything in response. Instead, he gestured briefly at her two escorts and they abruptly shoved her onto the stone slab before she could react. With one pinning her in place against her useless attempts to struggle out of his grip, the uninjured partner started tying a rope that bound her tightly against the rough surface. The rope wove across her, attaching to a few metal rings in the stone slab while digging into her arms roughly. And before she could manage anything resembling a complaint or protest against what they were doing, she found her mouth gagged by a length of fabric. The entire process took only a moment or two, the pair of men moving with the confidence of long experience. And the instant that they were satisfied that no amount of struggles would loosen their knots, they left the platform to join the crowds of observers.

Due to her helplessness and the lack of evidence for the promised rescue, Charlotte felt a slight panic beginning to form in her chest. She was trapped and bound tight, about to be killed by a madman who believed in magic and wanted to carve her heart out of her chest because of a shiny rock. And though she could still turn her head, all she could see was a tiny glimpse of the moon through the slim gap in the roof and the crowds of eager faces waiting for her death. She was running out of time and there was no sign of a way out. Even her foolish attempt to delay proceedings by stabbing the man with a piece of whalebone wasn't enough.

"This is the night we have been waiting for," announced Morris, pacing along the platform like an actor on stage. "Tonight, the gift is this unwed young lady of the upper class," he gestured at the bound Charlotte, "who was raised to be the pure and innocent ideal that all those families strive to possess. The perfect gift for the perfect stone."

Reaching towards the small table, he lifted a purple gemstone high above his head for his entire audience to see. Charlotte could hear them cheer eagerly, reacting just as Mr. Morris intended them to.

Fear was rising up in her, her heart racing as she realized that her rescuers wouldn't it in time. She was about to die. She was about to die far from home and her family would never know what happened or why. Her body would probably be dumped into a ditch or left for wild animals to devour. There would be no priest to say any final words and she wouldn't be buried with the rest of her family. No, there would be no gravestone with her name beside Rodney's. All that would be left would be a memory and a blood-stained rock in the hands of a madman.

Her horrified thoughts about painful death, no funeral, and not being buried near her brother were abruptly interrupted as she felt something tugging on the rope slightly. With a quick glance, she saw that Mr. Morris was still speaking to his enthusiastic audience and that there was no one else in sight. And the lack of anyone else in view caused the young woman to instantly relax.

"Did they have to tie these knots so bloody tight?" Skinner muttered quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bedlam, more formally known as Bethlem Royal Hospital among other names, is Europe's oldest extant psychiatric hospital and has operated continuously for over 600 years. It has also been the continent's most famous and, indeed, infamous specialist institution for the care and control of the insane and its popular designation – "Bedlam" – has long been synonymous with madness. It has been relocated a few times over the centuries. And while it has been reformed into a more modern and efficient hospital now, historically it was representative of the worst excesses of asylums in the era of lunacy reform. In essence, it was a very bad place to end up during that time period and would probably just make people crazier and miserable rather than help them.
> 
> In regards to Aztecs cutting out people's hearts, they did it because they thought it was important to strengthen their gods and prevent disasters like the end of the world. Morris? He just does it because it gives him magic gem stones and because he's evil. Honestly, I'd rather deal with the culture that thinks they are at least doing something good with their actions than the guy who is just after personal power. Plus, the Aztecs usually gave their intended sacrifice a really nice feast/celebration/good-looking dates before killing them and a lot of them treated the fact they were being killed as a great honor.
> 
> On a less disturbing and violent note, it turns out there's an entire language based on what kind of flowers you give someone and even how you give it to them. It was particularly popular during the Victorian era. It was one of the ways that a couple of people could send messages to each other that they didn't want to say out-loud, like flirty with a cute person they wanted to start courting.
> 
> A flower presented in an upright position represented a "positive thought; whereas one presented in the opposite direction had a negative meaning. Too, a person could say "yes" by offering a flower with the right hand - the left hand "no."
> 
> As for the types of flowers, roses and lilies had various meanings depending on what color they were, such as red roses meaning "I love you," yellow ones meaning "friendship, joy, or jealous," and white ones meaning "innocence or secrecy." Violets could mean "watchfulness or I'll always be true" if they were blue and would mean "faithfulness" if they were purple. Lavender meant "devotion" and orchids meant "love or beauty." A crocus would mean "youthful gladness" and primrose meant "I can't live without you." A gladiolus meant "sincerity" while a yellow carnation means "rejection or disappointment." And orange blossoms mean "purity, eternal love, and marriage," which is why a bride would often wear orange blossoms in their hair at their wedding. 
> 
> Oh, and you know the humble dandelion that grows in people's yards as a weed nowadays? It means "faithfulness, happiness, and love's oracle." Which is kind of cool for such a common plant.


	15. Daring Rescue

Sneaking into the hidden cave was surprisingly and thankfully simple. With Skinner to scout ahead for stragglers, the League moved in quietly. Most of the obedient followers were already deeper in the tunnels, awaiting the upcoming sacrifice, and any that remained on guard were silently dealt with by Nemo's men. Tom was always impressed by their efficiency. That remained true even when it came to handling the unsuspecting guards.

They managed to find the large and thoroughly-filled chamber. There were more people that he expected to see, but their focus was completely on the events in front of them rather than the League sneaking inside. Even if he couldn't actually see him, Tom knew Skinner stiffened briefly at the sight of the young woman being led to some type of altar. She was pretty, had auburn hair, dressed in a white gown that was probably not appropriate for her station, and certainly in danger. It didn't take a detective to know they'd found Charlotte.

From there, the League divided as they'd discussed prior. Skinner slipped away silently and without hesitation. His task was to free his sister and get her back out. Everyone else would focus on stopping or keeping their opponents at bay. Chaos and destruction were their focus. Tom and Quatermain edged around quietly to find the best line of fire for the approaching fight. Nemo, his men, and Henry worked their way to the edge of the distracted crowd. And Mina vanished into the shadows with an elegance only a vampire could achieve.

Tom and Quatermain shared a perch on a small crevice in the cliff-like walls of the cave, about seven feet off the ground and only reachable by climbing. Tucking themselves in the space hid them from sight while providing them an elevated position to view the entire chamber. It wasn't the perfect place to set up, but it was still the best for their current situation.

"The man certainly likes to hear himself talk," muttered Quatermain, slipping on his glasses just in case.

"The longer he talks, the more time Skinner has to get in position," Tom said, taking aim at one of the larger men in the ranks.

They couldn't risk shooting Morris himself. Skinner was up there somewhere, freeing his sister. And just like with the hyenas, it would be impossible to know if he was in the path of the bullet until it was too late. They would have to focus on the targets further away and leave Morris alone for now.

"Any idea what Morris can do with his particular collection of jewels?" asked Quatermain. "He's practically glittering with them."

"Other than control and strengthen his people who wear them? I don't know," he admitted. "He might be capable of anything."

Smirking slightly, the old man said, "Well, perhaps we'll soon learn if he's bullet-proof. Or Hyde-proof."

"Or vampire-proof," added Tom, glancing briefly towards the shadows above them.

"Indeed," he said. Then, still watching their targets closely, Quatermain casually asked, "Have you made any progress with Mrs. Harker or is she still out of your league?"

Tom felt his face grow warm as the topic shifted unexpectedly, though the darkness hid him pretty well. This was certainly not a discussion he wanted to talk about at the moment. He didn't want to admit the man might have been right that day on the Nautilus. There had been little progress beyond friendship and companionship similar to what he shared with the rest of the League. Part of him wondered if it would be wise to admit defeat.

Those thoughts were quickly dismissed as Morris turned his attention back towards the tied-up woman on the altar. He'd set the purple gemstone back on the table and was walking towards her with a very sharp-looking knife in his hand. Apparently he'd reached the human sacrificing stage of events. That meant the wait was over. They needed to act.

* * *

Skinner worked quickly and quietly on the ropes tying his sister to the rough rock surface. The knots were a tight and tangled nightmare and he couldn't risk yanking too hard in case it attracted attention. As long as Morris behaved like an actor on the stage, insisting that everyone focus on him, then no one would notice Charlotte's bindings being loosened. Except for Lottie herself, a look of realization and hope crossing her face.

"Did they have to tie these knots so bloody tight?" Skinner muttered under his breath as he worked.

She clearly heard him, but didn't respond beyond glancing in the direction of his voice and smiling slightly. Of course, the gag limited her smile to something similar to a relieved grimace, but Skinner could guess the intent. The lack of tears and hysteria that some women might express in similar situations was reassuring. It would be tricky enough to get her out without Charlotte losing her wits.

"When you get free, stay close no matter what happens or what you see," he instructed quietly as invisible fingers worked on the knots. "Don't be afraid. Things may grow a little freaky soon."

Any other warnings or instructions he might have considered sharing were rendered pointless when Morris finished preening for his obedient audience with the purple stone. Instead, he set it back down on the small table next to a bowl and picked up something far sharper and more dangerous. The man turned back and approached his bound sacrifice, knife in hand and a hungry expression on his face. If anyone needed further proof that Morris was completely mad, the way he stared at the trapped young woman lying helpless before him certainly provided it.

"With this blade, let the heart be wrenched from her chest so that the true power of the stone may be unlocked. The penumbral eclipse is above us and the gem is waiting. And so the time has come to provide the gift of the lifeblood from the chosen _sacrifice_ ," he said solemnly as he plunged the blade down.

The shocked and briefly frightened expression that took over his face when something unseen stopped his hand in midair was rather satisfying. But not nearly as satisfying as the punch to the face that Skinner followed it up with. Morris was knocked stumbling back as the invisible man ripped the knife from his grip. From his new position on the ground, Morris was able to easily witness a floating blade sawing through the thick ropes.

"Impossible," said Morris, sounding angry and frustrated at what he was witnessing.

"No, just a little extraordinary," Skinner said just as the sounds of gunfire, flapping wings, and screams filled the air.

He tried to keep an eye on the man as he tried to cut Charlotte free. But even without looking, the thief knew that the others were on the attack. Tom and Quatermain would fire at anyone who drew too close to the platform. Mina and the bats under her command were diving on those that caught her hungry gaze while Nemo and his men cut a bloody path through the crowd. That would be helpful when it came time to escape.

As one of the ropes snapped and he yanked the gag from Charlotte's mouth with his free hand, Skinner heard loud moans and crashes that usually signaled a familiar transformation. Henry had swallowed the formula. In a few seconds Edward would come out to play. Morris and his men wouldn't know what hit them.

"Watch out," yelped Charlotte.

Skinner spun around just in time to dodge a small blast of fire that would have engulfed his head. Confusion and inescapable fear from his experience in Mongolia gripped him tightly, compelling the thief to drop the knife and _move_. His heart raced while he struggled to slow his breathing. Memories of fire swallowing him and the pain of burning alive were too strong to ignore.

It took him a second to realize he wasn't facing the heavily-armored guard with his strange weapon. Instead, Morris was baring a bracelet with a red gemstone in the direction Skinner previously occupied, his eyes flickering around wildly in search of his target. Unfortunately, that direction was towards Charlotte and the thief couldn't allow that.

"That's a new one," said Skinner, drawing the man's attention away from the young woman."

Trying to recapture his previous confidence, Morris said, "The rubies for my followers promote protection and strength. This one can also create fire. Not a lot at a time, but enough to handle problems."

"I'm not very fond of fire," he said uneasily as he watched the bracelet cautiously.

"And I'm not fond of others interfering and trying to free what his mine. Not even those with powers and gifts of their own," said Morris. "Do you wield the Ring of Gyges or is this gift of yours from another source?"

Noticing that Charlotte had one arm free and was busy working on the rest of her bindings, the thief knew he needed to keep Morris distracted. And even at the risk of another painful encounter with fire, something that he desperately wanted to avoid, Skinner forced himself to act.

Grabbing the bowl from the table, he hurled it towards the man's head. Morris ducked beneath it, but Skinner closed the distance and punched him in the face again. He knew that either his first or second punch should have broken the man's nose, but he only seemed mostly annoyed by the blows. The various stones were protecting him. Skinner gritted his teeth, but refused to back down. He didn't have to beat the man, after all. He just needed to keep him busy until Charlotte managed to pull the rest of the ropes off and slip free.

He could handle this. Morris might have fire, but Skinner commanded invisibility, stealth, and experience at handling the strange. The man wouldn't realize Charlotte was escaping until it was too late.

* * *

His opponents filled the chamber, far more than he normally faced at once. And they wore magic gemstones, as strange as it sounded, that would both guarantee obedience to Morris and clearly made them stronger than normal. These were unusual opponents, even for the League.

Edward was truly enjoying himself.

He tossed his way through the crowd, unconcerned with whether or not his victims were injured or killed by the impact. They displayed more personality and initiative than those from the village, so they at weren't completely controlled. They at least partially chose their fate.

Besides, guilt was more of Henry's pastime. Not his. Edward was violence, destruction, and pure satisfaction of his desires. He was all the shadowy impulses that exist within mankind, the ones that many would never act upon. He was what happened to the civilized man when all restraint and control were stripped away until only darkness remained. He did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and could not truly be restrained by anyone.

Though, he wasn't quite the same as he once was. He _did_ restrain himself to an extent in comparison to how he once behaved. The League was not harmed. The League was never harmed and was even protected. He took what he wanted and did what he wanted. And what he wanted was to belong with them. He wanted them. And he wanted Mina.

Edward caught a glimpse of her, diving within the crowd of fighting opponents. She'd snatch one up while her bats lifted and dropped others around the chamber. She yank her chosen victim up into the shadows for a few moments before dropping them back down once she'd quenched her thirst. She was deadly creature of blood and darkness, beautiful and cruel in equal measures.

He wanted Mina, but he knew he could not take her. Violence would not give him what he desired. He couldn't break her, couldn't force her, and couldn't keep her for his own. She would match him, strength for strength and ruthlessness for ruthlessness. And Henry refused to court her in a more civilized manner. Edward would call it cowardly, but there was finally a little steel in the man's spine. Henry would fight to protect her, even from his alter ego. He would risk never seeing her or anyone again if it would keep her safe. Edward knew it was not a bluff. Edward wanted Mina, but there was no possible way he could have her.

Knocking away a few men who were trying to surround Nemo, Edward wondered on the topic a bit more. Did he _want_ Mina or did he _love_ Mina? Henry certainly cared for her and he seemed to believe that Edward did as well. Such a thing was almost laughable, but Mina was different than most women. She was unique. She was a graceful, elegant, vicious, and horrifying monster. He did not wish to see her come to harm. And she _did_ deserve nothing less that whatever she truly desired.

…What did he want more? Did he want Mina's presence? Did he want Mina's returned affection? Did he want to have her as _his_? Or did he want her to be happy?

Perhaps Henry was right and they should let her go. Or perhaps he should wait and see where her desires may dwell. It would be better to know what her thoughts were before he decided. There was time. He may not have much experience being patient for what he wanted, but he could try. He would wait and decide what he truly wanted when he knew more about how she felt.

Satisfied that he had considered the matter enough for the moment, Edward grabbed the next closest attacker and hurled him. This one got some pretty impressive distance, flying across most of the chamber before crashing to the ground. He could still hear the crack of gunfire above the shouts and screams of the fight. Tom and Quatermain were still firing from their position above the battlefield. Each shot resulted in one person dropping, either dead or injured depending on how merciful the men felt at that particular second. They were too accurate to waste a bullet.

Something managed to catch Edward's attention, a flash of light from across the chamber. Fire. The man, Morris, was throwing fire around in what was possibly an attempt to hit the invisible man. That wasn't good. Henry went to a lot of trouble patching up Skinner the last time he was burned. It would be such a shame to make he do it again.

Edward considered heading towards the platform to deal with Morris personally. It might be mildly entertaining to fight someone who could create fire with gemstones. But after a brief hesitation, he rejected the idea. This was Skinner's fight. It was his sister and Morris was the man who wished to kill her. Let him fight the man.

Of course, if Morris _did_ manage to harm the invisible man somehow, Edward would have to rip his arms out of their sockets. Harming the League wasn't allowed, after all.

* * *

Charlotte sawed at the ropes frantically, using the knife Mr. Skinner dropped earlier. She could hear him taunting Mr. Morris occasionally as the cruel man managed to produce fire from no visible source. She felt terrified, confused, and overwhelmed by everything happening around her. Mr. Morris's claims about having power from his various gems were apparently true. There was no other explanation for the fire. But there were other odd events around her.

The gathered crowd was now in disarray. Strange men in unusual clothes had rushed in, some slashing away at the group with swords. Bats and some shadowy _thing_ were snatching people from the ground and either dropping them or pulling them into the darkness where they screamed in terror. And a misshapen giant of a man moved through the crowd, throwing and smashing away at anyone who crossed his path. Charlotte didn't know what to think except that Mr. Skinner warned her not to be afraid. He warned things may become "freaky." It seemed fairly clear what he meant now.

But she couldn't stop and stare. She couldn't be helpless and useless. She had to think about what Rodney would do in such a situation. And Charlotte knew he would continue the escape. So she used her free arm to cut away at the rest of the ropes and try pulling herself free while her captor was busy with his opponent. It was the smart decision.

She felt the rope snap and she practically flung it off as she scrambled off the stone altar. The young woman couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief at no longer being so tightly bound. But her rescue was not yet complete. She was still trapped within the tunnels, surrounded by the enemy and his men, and the one who came to rescue her was currently in a battle against the man who intended to kill her. At the moment, Mr. Morris had his back to her, but she didn't know how long that would last.

Charlotte barely thought about what she was doing. She simply acted.

Grabbing the small table while roughly knocking off all the remaining objects, she swung it towards his head. The piece of furniture was heavier than she expected, but fear and anger after her time in captivity turned out to be a strong motivator. She wasn't certain if she simply caught him off-guard or if her swing held more power than she believed, but Mr. Morris stumbled and fell on impact.

" _That_ is for trying to cut my heart out," she snapped. Then she threw the table at the downed man and added, "And _that_ is for making me dress like a streetwalker."

"Remind me not to upset you," muttered Mr. Skinner, startling her enough to make her jump when she realized he was right beside her. "If you keep this up, you're going to get along well with Mina."

"I shall try to take that as a compliment, Mr. Skinner," Charlotte said, trying to maintain a little dignity in her flimsy outfit.

"It was meant as one," said the invisible man. "Let's get out of here before he gets up."

Charlotte glanced back towards Mr. Morris briefly, but was once again surprised. While the table remained, he was gone without a trace. And there was nowhere that he could have escaped to in what little time she looked away.

"Or not," said Mr. Skinner before something grabbed her hand. "Come on, Charlotte. Let's get out of this cave before he comes back with a new trick."

Rather than complain about the over familiarity he was implying by using her given name, she allowed herself to be pulled off the platform and towards the violent crowd of people. Fear struck briefly as she worried that she would be harmed by the fighting, but the strangely-dressed men practically materialized out of the mass of combatants and cleared a path. And if they didn't remove someone from where Mr. Skinner was pulling her fast enough, swarms of bat or a terrifying massive figure yanked them out of sight.

"Everyone, fall back," a voice shouted over the noise. "Skinner has the girl. Fall back. Hyde, cover our retreat. Make sure no one follows."

"It'll be my pleasure," replied the large, monstrous creature in shredded clothes.

"You heard, Quatermain," Mr. Skinner's voice said cheerfully. "Time to go. Edward will keep us safe."

Unable to do anything else, Charlotte let herself be pulled like a kite as the invisible man led her through the dark tunnels. Her rescuers were certain rather extraordinary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it seems that the rescue is mostly complete and fairly successful. Though Morris did mysteriously vanish, but it isn't like he'll show back up later… Right?
> 
> The Ring of Gyges is mythical magical artifact mentioned by the philosopher, Plato, that supposedly turns the owner invisible at will. Gyges of Lydia was a historical king, the founder of the Mermnad dynasty of Lydian kings. The most common interpretation of the myth of is that an unnamed ancestor of he was a shepherd in the service of the ruler of Lydia. After an earthquake, a cave was revealed in a mountainside where he was feeding his flock. Entering the cave, he discovered that it was in fact a tomb with a bronze horse containing a corpse, larger than that of a man, who wore a golden ring, which he pocketed. He discovered that the ring gave him the power to become invisible by adjusting it. He then arranged to be chosen as one of the messengers who reported to the king as to the status of the flocks. Arriving at the palace, he used his new power of invisibility to seduce the queen, and with her help he murdered the king, and became king of Lydia himself. 
> 
> The point that Plato was trying to make with the story is to ask whether any man can be so virtuous that he could resist the temptation of being able to perform any act without being known or discovered. The original story of "The Invisible Man" was definitely influenced by that idea, seeing what a man might do when no one would witness his crimes.


	16. Introductions

Charlotte let herself be led by the hand, the invisible man pulling her along as fast as they could run. They hurried up the tunnels, through chaos and disorder that left her head whirling. Shouts and screams echoed off the stone walls, evidence of the fighting still going on behind her. The noise chased after them as she fled, surrounded by strangers.

She tried not to think of shadowy things that snatched Mr. Morris' followers out of sight or the large hulking figure that brought up the rear. These extraordinary things frightened her even as they cleared the path for her. She also tried not to think about how she nearly died or how Mr. Morris vanished without a trace. Those things scared her even more. So she did not think about them. She just ran.

As they reached the exit and Charlotte caught a proper glimpse of the star-filled sky, she heard a loud rumbling behind her. Rumbling and crashing. She tried to look back, but Mr. Skinner kept pulling her along. He seemed determined to put as much distance as possible between them and Mr. Morris' underground chamber of death. Charlotte had no choice but to keep going. She ran with the invisible man leading her through the darkness, Charlotte trying not to trip and fall on the rough ground. What else could she do? And besides, she could understand the desire to keep moving. She understood the need to escape that awful place.

By the time they began to slow down, her lungs burned and her legs ached. She'd spent too much time cooped up in cage and her life before that being cared for by servants. She did not possess the strength and endurance for running long distances. Charlotte was nearly stumbling as Mr. Skinner finally stopped near a clump of trees.

"Hold on," said the invisible man as he released his grip. "Let's see where I left it."

Charlotte was left standing awkwardly as more strangers arrived at the location. There were several of the strangely-dressed men, the ones who fought in the underground chamber. She also saw a man dressed similarly to them, only in blue and who seemed to be in charge of most of them. At least, that was the impression she received from how they deferred to him. A few other people acted more like his equal, exchanging nods of greeting as they approached the site at a more sedate pace.

Charlotte spotted the large, misshapen man wearing tattered fragments of a suit. His presence, even at a distance, made her shiver slightly. He did not quite seem human. More like one of those great apes they talk about hunting while exploring the darkest jungles.

There were another pair of men, but they were less impressive-looking. There was an old man and a blond young man who both wore practical clothing and carried rifles. She would guess that the old man was one of the people who spoke during the escape. He looked the most likely to have the voice she heard.

And then there was a woman. Charlotte didn't know what to make of the trousers, the curly hair she wore loose, or the red scarf that she wore even in the warm weather. And she certainly didn't know what to think about the way she moved, as if she was a graceful creature that lurked in the darkness. Or as if she was a part of it. She looked more human than the misshapen behemoth, but there was something that didn't quite seem normal either.

All she knew for certain was that none of these people belonged in the upper class society that the Talbot family typically dealt with and that she owed them her life.

"Here we go," said Skinner, his voice coming from a pile of packs stacked under a tree.

Charlotte saw a long black coat rise from one of the bags, quickly followed by a hat. She watched the coat drape over something casually while the hat perched itself on top of an invisible head. Then a pair of dark glasses floated out of a jacket pocket and positioned themselves below the hat, giving her a general idea of where his face might be. Once that was done, he approached her again with the leather trench coat outstretched.

"You can wear this for now if you like," he said. "We don't have much of a wardrobe for you at the moment, but we can get you something better later. Maybe one of Mina's outfits can be altered to fit you or you could pick something up at the first settlement we cross."

Blushing slightly as she suddenly remembered her state of undress in front of so many strangers, Charlotte accepted the offered coat and said quietly, "Thank you, Mr. Skinner. I appreciate everything that you and your companions have done so far."

"Skinner. Miss Talbot," called the blond young man as she pulled on the coat and wrapped it around herself. He then placed a hand in midair a little below and next to the floating hat, which meant it would likely be resting on an invisible shoulder. "Glad to see you made it out unharmed. The fire was a rather unpleasant surprise."

"Wasn't happy about it either, Tom," said the invisible man. "But overall it wasn't as bad as Mongolia. No one ended up dead or crispy."

Glancing back at the old man, he said, "Yes. This... this time was better."

"Miss Charlotte Talbot," greeted the bearded man in blue, giving her a polite nod from his position among his men. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. We have heard interesting stories about you."

"Right. We should probably introduce ourselves properly," the young man said, ducking his head in embarrassment.

Charlotte smiled slightly at his reaction. He seemed like a nice young man who was close to her age. His accent seemed a little strange, but she quickly placed it as American. And even with the practical clothing and the darkness of the night, the moonlight was enough for her to realize he was rather handsome. Her friends in London would undoubtedly giggle over him.

"Special Agent Thomas Sawyer of the American Secret Service," he said with a brief nod of greetings. Then he gestured towards the bemused older man and said, "And this is Mr. Allan Quatermain."

She frowned briefly in recognition. Charlotte remembered hearing that name before. And what she'd last heard about the man did not make sense with the reality she currently saw.

"I beg your pardon, but I heard recent rumors about Mr. Quatermain," said Charlotte carefully. "Rumors that make his presence nothing short of miraculous."

Saywer smiled wryly and said, "Reports of his death were greatly exaggerated. Or at least no longer accurate."

The giant, misshapen, and frightening figure took the opportunity to stomp past them towards the pile of belongings. Charlotte suppressed a shudder. She wasn't certain she succeeded, though. The way he eyed her as he passed and the brief sniff made her uneasy.

"That's Edward Hyde," said Skinner. "Don't worry. He's not always the nicest fellow, but he won't hurt you. You'll meet the Doc later."

As Mr. Hyde pawed through the packs and pulled out pieces of clothing that clearly wouldn't fit him, the strange woman with the scarf stepped closer to Charlotte. She seemed to be looking the young lady over carefully while distractedly pulling her hair up into a more appropriate style. Charlotte was uncertain if the woman was one of their wives or a sister, but that was the only logical explanation for her presence among all these men alone. At least Charlotte would have a proper chaperone to ensure everything was respectable. It wouldn't make up for all her time as a prisoner of Mr. Morris and his men, but she could appreciate the return to propriety.

"Miss Talbot," said the woman. "You seem none the worse for wear."

Charlotte nodded and said quietly, "Despite Mr. Morris' best efforts, I escaped unharmed. Mr. Skinner saw to that when he cut the ropes to free me from that stone table."

"You cut most of the ropes yourself, Charlotte. And managed to land a hit on the unpleasant fellow," said Skinner in a proud tone. "Almost seemed like you took lessons from our own Mina. All you're missing are the knives, the temperament, and her unique abilities. _And_ you haven't tried to smack me just yet."

Still uncertain how to respond to Mr. Skinner's continued state of over familiarity with his terms of address, Charlotte observed how the woman directed an odd look towards the invisible man. It seemed to be an impossible combination of mild flattery, familiar exasperation, weak annoyance, and resignation. But also a bit of fondness, as if she expected and accepted the almost teasing comments from the invisible man.

"If you did not purposefully try to provoke me, you would not need to worry about my temperament," the woman said, raising an eyebrow. "Though if you did not cause trouble, we would scarcely recognize you."

This made Charlotte certain. The woman was not _Mr. Skinner's_ wife. They did not speak like spouses. Perhaps more like brother and sister than anything. Not like Charlotte and Victor. But more like how she once was with Rodney. And there were other hints among the group that made them seem closer than mere companions. Quatermain looked at Sawyer like a proud father. And the way Sawyer clapped a hand where Skinner's shoulder must be seemed almost brotherly. Even the man in the strange blue clothes looked at the others with certain amounts of affection. These people, all with different surnames and clearly from different places, could be almost mistaken for family. Charlotte barely knew them and could still see it clearly. For them, whatever bonds that bound them together were constructed to be as strong as those of blood.

"I suppose Mina- I mean, Mrs. Wilhelmina Harker," said Sawyer, stumbling over his words slightly. "She has introduced herself quite well already."

Hyde chuckled at Sawyer losing his composure, glancing towards the young man. There was something dangerous and terrifying about the behemoth. Even with his amusement, Charlotte could see something scarier in his gaze and posture. Like a trained dog preparing for a hunt. Or maybe something wilder and more vicious. But she also thought she saw the misshapen man's expression lose some of that dangerous edge when he looked towards Mrs. Harker.

As the man in blue stepped forward, letting Charlotte spot the sword at his side, Sawyer gestured towards him and said, "And this is Captain Nemo. He and his men are the reason we made it to Africa to find you in the first place."

Charlotte took a step back in recognition of the name. She hadn't heard it in years and rarely in conversation meant for innocent maidens' ears. But even a gentle young lady of good breeding would occasionally hear scandalous or blood-curling tales. The men would talk among themselves, the servants would hear, and the women would gossip. She remembered her father speaking with men years ago, discussing how many ships of the British Empire were attacked. They were horrible attacks that could barely be comprehended. But the name they whispered remained with her. Others might have forgotten in the years that passed, but nightmares from childhood ensured she would remember.

"Captain Nemo, the infamous pirate?" she whispered with dread, unable to stop the words from tumbling from her lips.

As soon as she spoke, Charlotte covered her mouth in horror. These people saved her life. And she needed their assistance to return home. She should not be so foolish or cruel as to insult one of their members like that. There were times to follow Rodney's example and others where she should hold her tongue. How could she have made such a mistake?

Nemo didn't look particularly disturbed by the question. He didn't even look surprised. His expression barely even changed.

"We all have a past," said Skinner without hesitation or shame. "For several of us, our pasts are things we want to escape or forget. There's lots of regret to pass around. That doesn't mean we can't be better than we used to be, Charlotte." Then, in a less serious tone, he said, "So don't worry about Edward, Nemo, or the rest of the League. I'll protect you from the old pirate."

Memory flickered at his words for some reason, making her frown in thought. Why? Why did it seem so familiar to her? But Charlotte couldn't figure it out and was forced to put aside the thought in order to focus on the present situation.

"I apologize. I should not have said that. I was surprised to recognize your name, Captain Nemo, and the stories I heard gave me a poor impression," she said. "Your actions speak far louder than those stories, though. _All of you_ have my gratitude."

Mr. Quatermain gave a brief nod and said, "No one deserves what that man had in mind, lass. And even if he and his men try to follow, Hyde collapsed part of the tunnel behind us. That'll take time to dig out."

"Though we should not use that as an excuse to tarry," said Captain Nemo. "We have a long way to go to reach My Lady and I do not wish to linger around a place with so much evil."

"Not to mention that there might still be some of those guard hyenas running around," Skinner muttered.

As Captain Nemo's men started collecting the packs, preparing for the group to move out, Charlotte took the opportunity to start fastening the trench coat properly. It wasn't quite as good as a proper dress, petticoat, and corset, but the coat did help. She felt less exposed. The material did take some getting used to, however.

Reaching into the pocket as curiosity prompted her to, she discovered a pair of gloves and a container. A closer look revealed it contained white greasepaint. She considered handing them back to Mr. Skinner, but the invisible man would have nowhere to keep them. It wasn't like his hat included pockets. And that thought, unfortunately, made her realize something she had not realized before; in order for Mr. Skinner to remain invisible and pass unnoticed, he would have to be completely unclothed. Charlotte instantly blushed and tried not to follow that train of thought any further. She was still an unwed young woman and did not need to consider such things, especially about a stranger who had been nothing but kind to her. So she just tucked the gloves and container of greasepaint back into the trench coat and went back to observing the group break camp.

Hyde abruptly cracked his neck and said, "My formula's about done. Someone make sure the nervous young lady we grabbed doesn't run off screaming."

Charlotte was about to take offense at the description of herself as nervous, feeling that she'd been very composed during the difficult situation, but jolted in surprise as something happened to the misshapen man. His body seized and jerked as steam erupted from him. Her hand covered her mouth as the figure flailed wildly and... shrank? She narrowed her eyes. He _was_. The large and ill-proportioned Hyde was growing smaller. The movements and sounds he made seemed painful, but he was definitely shrinking within the wafting cloud of steam.

And then, as abruptly as it started, the transformation stopped. The wild motion halted and left behind an exhausted, gasping, and barely-standing man. An average-looking, normal man clinging to his fragment of clothing as Captain Nemo reached out briefly to steady him. There was no hint of the previously huge and intimidating figure.

As his heavy breathing began to slow, the shirtless man glanced towards a stunned Charlotte and said tiredly, "Dr. Henry Jekyll... At your service."

"Uh... Charmed to make your acquaintance," she said, trying to hide her confusion.

"As I told you," said Skinner as he handed a pack to Sawyer, "the members of the League are a bit on the extraordinary side. Henry and Edward aren't quite the same people, but they do share a body. A little sip of formula and our good doctor is replaced with our temperamental friend. But you don't need to worry about either side, Charlotte. You're quite safe."

Unable to ignore it any longer, she turned towards the invisible man and asked, "Mr. Skinner, why do you keep calling me that? The polite thing to do when addressing someone would be to call me 'Miss Talbot.' Especially since we barely know each other."

Her question prompted a rather odd response from their audience. Everyone looked directly at the invisible man with expectant expression. Mr. Sawyer especially looked interested in what Mr. Skinner would say. The whole thing gave Charlotte the feeling that she was missing something rather important. She just wasn't sure what it might be.

Finally, the floating hat moved as he shook his head and said, "It's a bit of a habit of mine, I'm afraid. I do the same with everyone. If it bothers you so much, I could stop."

"No," she said, the word out of her mouth before she realized she'd made a decision. "It does not bother me. Truly. I was merely curious about it."

The hat bobbed in a brief nod. Sawyer still stared at the invisible man, frowning slightly. Whatever the handsome young man expected to hear, Mr. Skinner apparently didn't say it. Charlotte silently added that to the growing list of curious things about her new companions. Perhaps she would figure out what she was missing later on.


End file.
